


A Journey Away

by Baccadoro



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baccadoro/pseuds/Baccadoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different way to see "The Hobbit" story. Years after Smaug's attack to Erebor, Thorin and Company meet Bilbo in Mirkwood. Why is the hobbit there? What will happen to the thirteen dwarves imprisoned in Thranduil's realm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Day the Dragon Came

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first time: first time I write a fanfiction and first time I write in english, first time I write notes too, of course. Feel free to destroy me. I will publish a better summary when I actually come up with a better one.

It was a sunny day when the dragon came. The dwarves of Erebor could not imagine they would have doused the fires with their tears that night; the few dozens of them who survived.

At first they heard a rumble of thunder across the sky, as if the Mountain itself was collapsing. Then darkness fell, while the sun was covered by a huge shape. The doors of stone that had barred Erebor for centuries were shattered. Their slivers sprung high and came down onto the screaming people.

The King in his madness, rivaling with the beast in the lust for gold, abandoned his folk and ran alone to the treasury room, drawing comfort from the hoard.

His son and heir saw it but fought to bring the rest of his family to safety. He searched the royal chambers for his children, but his second born was already dead, crushed under a column that had been standing there since the foundation of the Mountain. Thráin let go a yell of rage, shed a tear from his only eye and ran back, looking for prince Thorin and princess Dís. He found them both, alive and well, among their most faithful guards, heading towards the back of the Mountain.

Gróin, one of them, cried to his lord: “We didn’t manage to find prince Frerin! I’ll go looking for him”.  
Thráin threw a pained glance to his children and replied: “Frerin is now waiting for us in the Halls of Mandos with my wife”. Ignoring Dís’ high shriek, he forced the group forward, commanding to make haste, in the effort to save more lives as possible.

More and more dwarves joined them, following prince Thráin and the young princes, women carrying their most precious heirlooms and men their precious youngsters. The halls of Erebor echoed with screams, of Smaug the Terrible and of dying dwarves.

Thorin had his left hand on his sister’s shoulder but kept on looking behind, longing and despair in his eyes. Little Dís was crying openly, terrified, but sped up her pace.

They reached the end of the Mountain at last, and an opening in its side.

Thráin made sure to see all the group breathe in the fresh air, the fuming Mountain in the background, before turning to his son.

“Thorin, you take Dís and go. Erebor is lost for now, and will be for years. I have to go back in before returning to you”.

Thorin raised his eyes to his father. Thráin’s long beard was scorched, as the fur of his torn cloak, the mithril beads were gone. His crystal eye had turned red with the reflection of the flames. The tattoos on his brow were barely visible through the gray of cinder on his face. Thorin grabbed his father by the sleeve and implored him to stay or let him follow in the den of the dragon.

Thráin pulled gently the hand off and squeezed it with affection, before leaving it.

Thorin asked him again.

Thráin spoke then: “Do you dare to disobey your father? Do you want to disobey your King?”.

Thorin understood and fell silent.

The King turned around and when he found who he was looking for he said: “Fundin, the King is still missing inside the Mountain. I charge you with the lives of the princes. Take care of them until I return”.

Nodding, the head of the royal guards put his own seven years old child, Balin, in the arms of his wife and picked Dís up, waiting for Thorin to follow at his side.

With a last glance to his children Thráin entered the Mountain in search of his own father. Nobody ever saw him or Thrór again, and nobody really knew if his line’s blood summoned him back in or the gold madness.

 

For a couple of hours nothing changed in the valley surrounding Erebor.

Thorin yet dared to hope to spot his father and his grandfather come out from the Mountain, but after their group only three dwarves left it alive. Nonetheless he kept his eyes on the doors, tracing the patterns of smoke that raised up from them and vanished among the clouds. Dís, still sobbing, didn’t leave his side and his brother tried to soothe her running his fingers through her hair, ignoring all the voices around him.

But after some time the voices became more insistent. And alarming.

He heard calling his name, but while someone was asking for prince Thorin, he realized with dread and surprise that some were addressing him as King Thorin. He forced himself to focus on the questions rather than on his title and when he let his mind understand their meaning, he turned to face the Western cliff.

Hundreds of elves were lining on the border, fully armored. They shone like the sun rising on the horizon at dawn.

Thorin felt his sister gasp in awe and fall silent.

For an instant Thorin thought of battle, of retaking his Erebor with numbers and brute force, but quickly dismissed that idea: the most pressing need was assisting the survivors with food and drinks and planning their relocation to a safer place, farther away from the deadly beast. He heard people cheer to the newcomers and saw Dís look up at him expectantly, as to wait for reassurance of the elves’ coming.

Thorin moved to get a better view of the elven army. He could clearly see King Thranduil on his elk, his graceful figure standing out from the others, pondering the situation. Obviously, the attack had come unforeseen and the elves needed a bit of time to assess the damage and organize their assistance.

Thorin’s gaze was on Thranduil, while he was carefully considering the valley below him.

Unexpectedly, the elven King raised his hand, calm and cold, his gesture a clear command for the rows of soldiers behind him. Then, without hesitation, he turned and left, preceded by his people.  
A roar of prayers and curses and more screams followed the elves, spoiling their composed silence. Many dwarves shouted in disbelief, Dís restarted to shed tears on his brother’s sleeve.

The young prince felt sheer hatred running through his veins. These were their allies, friends to his grandfather!

For a moment Thorin dreamed having huge wings and being able to breathe fire; he dreamed a sharper eye to watch from above forests burning, trees collapsing.

No god granted him his wish.


	2. A Hobbit in a Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a little Bilbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can accept this plot twist in my story, you can accept more or less everything else.  
> A huge thank you to one of my dearest friends and beta reader kneelingtothenorthernlights.tumblr.com  
> She taught me everything about the magic world of slash and I cannot be more grateful! ;)

After the fall of Erebor, the elven realm of Mirkwood became the most powerful kingdom of Middle-Earth.

Its King, Thranduil, was a well-loved and respected lord.

His people was joyous and merry, and they loved to indulge in hunts and celebrations. They left their halls at night, lighted fires in the glades and ate and danced and laughed until dawn. They wore crowns of flowers on their head and red berries entwined as pearls in their hair. Their robes were long, brown and green, woven with silver threads, and their shoes were of velvet gray.

By day, the elves of Mirkwood collected their bows and with silent feet hunted in the forest. Their favorite game was deer and no one was as good as an archer as the King himself and his son Legolas.

 

A century and twenty years had passed from the day a dragon had attacked the mountain of Erebor.

King Thranduil, prince Legolas and their escort were walking lightly in the wood, bow and arrow in their hands, following the tracks of a big wild deer. The clever beast led them to the edge of the forest, and it was near sunset when Legolas finally shot it down.

They were heading back to their halls when Thranduil’s sharp ears heard an unusual sound. It was a desperate wailing, but not of deer, horse or bird. For the elves it was not hard to find the source of the noise, following the high-pitched notes. They saw a brown shape lying among the roots of an old and twisted oak, moving feebly. Great was their surprise when they understood it was a hemp bag with a little creature inside. Carefully the King lifted the bag up and pulled out a worn-out, hungry hobbit baby. They gaped at the tiny child for a couple of moments, then they exploded and spoke all at the same time, all but the elven King.

Some wondered how and why a hobbit child had arrived in their wood, some were worried about his crying and some asked what they were going to do with the little one.

Thranduil said with a barely audible voice: “we must make haste and head back home. This baby is hungry and if I recall the traits of his race, he needs an abundant meal”. The other elves knew their lord was good and kind.

 

Thranduil sent a small party to the Shire, with the order to question its inhabitants if there was a little hobbit missing.

The elves soon understood no child was missing and no hobbit family wished to take the responsibility of it. Hobbits were not a hard-hearted folk, but it was not in their nature to adopt a child appeared from nowhere in an elven forest far to the East.

When the situation was clear to everybody, the elven party began to search for someone to go with them and look after the baby, help them raise him and teach him hobbits’ culture and traditions. It was nearly harder than finding someone to give the little one to.

They had better luck and received a warmer welcome when they reached Long Cleave in the Northfarthing. A lovely lady, Pervinca Took, invited the elves for tea, ignoring how difficult it was for them to fit in a hobbit hole. It seemed to the elves that the hobbit was trying to tell them the whole story of the Took Family in the short space of a cup of tea and cookies.

Anyway, they managed to quickly explain the reason of their visit and, when they offered the lady Took a place in the elven King’s halls with the task of looking after the little hobbit, she just explained: “As you already know, I have fairy blood in my veins, but that does not mean I would run off into the blue without doing the dishes before. I intend to remain a respectable hobbit, and I will not allow to be spirited away by elves without taking the washing in too”. With that she turned to mind her own business before leaving the Shire for good.

 

The return trip required more days of travel. Lady Pervinca wasn’t up for less than her usual seven meals and demanded to consume them “on two legs, not four”. The elves agreed without a fuss, concerned that a refusal would have scared the hobbit away. The reality was quite the opposite: Pervinca started to consider herself essential for these people and the little child she had yet to know. They could be graceful and imposing, but their manners and habits were not impeccable as she expected them to be. Surely their King could only benefit from a respectable hobbit residing in his halls.

The group reached the eleven kingdom of Mirkwood with ease.

For once Pervinca forgot about her priorities, which would have consisted in a bath, a nap, a befitting dress and elevenses, and asked to be introduced to Thranduil and the little hobbit right away. She walked the long aisle of the throne room and, when she arrived at the presence of the King, she lifted the hems of her skirt and made a small curtsy. The elf had the baby soundly asleep in his arms, barely visible but for few brown curls emerging from the pale silver of his robe.

Pervinca stood on tiptoe to get a better glimpse and Thranduil bent his knees to facilitate her. She saw the hobbit was well cared and nodded in appreciation. It was encouraging to find out elves weren’t totally clueless about newborns though the scarcity of them among their people. She looked Thranduil timidly in the eyes and asked:

“What’s his name?”.

Most of the elves that were in the room exchanged glances, perplexed. Nobody really thought about that. Each of them got embarrassed because they realized it was a silly thing to forget. But Thranduil answered:

“His name is Bilbo”.

Pervinca bit her lower lip, considering the name. Then stretched her arms out to the hobbit to hold him.

“Bilbo is proper enough, but the little one will need a last name too”.

Thranduil seemed to have done his homework because he replied immediately, as he was expecting that question:

“We found him in a bag; therefore I deem Baggins is appropriate. Do you agree, my lady?”.

Pervinca hummed her approval and whispered with the sweetest voice: “Nice to meet you, my dear Bilbo Baggins”.

 

In the next fifty years Pervinca Took did a wonderful job with Bilbo Baggins.

She raised him with affection and care, as she would have done with her own son. She dressed him in the Shire fashion, made sure he didn’t miss one of his meals, taught him everything of the hobbit culture, including songs and dances, cooking and gardening.  
Bilbo used to consider himself half Baggins, part that granted him his more respectable side, and half Took, from which he drew the wilder traits of his personality. He loved his nurse dearly and called her Vinca, because it was easier to pronounce as a child.  
He was like a second son to Thranduil, a little brother to Legolas, and was treated by the elves like a real member of the royal family, and obviously he was well versed in the elven languages and history.

Sometimes he let his mind wander to the green fields and hills of the Shire, longing to spend some time visiting the Farthings, the town of Hobbiton and Long Cleave. He dreamt about picking up his walking stick and reaching the elven kingdom’s gates. There he would turn and wave his goodbyes to Thranduil, Legolas and his friends.  
Vinca of course would have followed him, and she would have pointed out all the flowers and trees that didn’t grow in Mirkwood (such as the most famous Old Toby. Bilbo really wished a good smoke of that and Pervinca too missed it terribly).  
He imagined himself knocking at the round, painted doors of his distant Took relatives and being invited in for tea and a rich hobbit dinner. He would have entertained the many children with tales of elves, of Beren and Lúthien, of Eärendil and Elwing, and of Thranduil himself, that was a great friend to young hobbits.

Those were only dreams, because Bilbo was a respectable hobbit and was contented with picturing the life in the Shire in his mind. Mirkwood was his home now and he had no desire to leave all the comforts of Thranduil’s halls for that adventure.


	3. The Magic Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds a ring. A magic one can always prove useful, especially if it can turn you invisible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would not exist without my beta kneelingtothenorthernlights.tumblr.com  
> I was totally lost about the way Bilbo could discover the Ring and she came up with the perfect solution. <3  
> And, by the way, trick or treat? :>

It happened on a clear night of Víressë, stars and fireflies softening the darkness.

The elves, and Bilbo with them, were having their fun in the forest, with songs and games.  
They decided to play hide and seek and Bilbo was very excited because he excelled at it.  
He ran with light feet far from the bonfires and among the tall trees, and was satisfied for his prowess. He stayed there, looking for signs of approaching elves, when he was thrown abruptly to the ground by a dark, heavy shape. It was some kind of wild animal and Bilbo just had the time to raise his hands in front of his face to defend himself from the attack. The hobbit got his arms scratched by sharp nails and quickly realized the situation would only turn worse if he did not react. He switched from the defensive stance to press his hands on the creature's chest and push it away. But, without the protection of his arms, he felt the beast's fingers close around his throat and tighten. Bilbo started to feel dizzy and see shiny sparks covering his vision when all of a sudden the weight on his body was lifted, the hands on his throat disappeared, while a scream of rage rang in his ear.

Bilbo had no idea of what had happened to him in that last minute. Elves arrived quickly at the commotion but it was a man the hobbit had never seen before that helped him to his feet. That man seemed terribly mortified and considered each scratch on Bilbo’s skin with attentive eye:   
“Are you well, little one? I am deeply sorry. I got distracted for a couple of seconds and let my guard down. The creature thought you to be an easy prey, since you share the same size”.

Bilbo dared to cast an eye over the beast that attacked him: it was of his same size indeed, naked but for a filthy scrap of cloth around its waist, it was nearly bald and from the open mouth he could count a few missing teeth, but the remaining ones were sharp and yellowish. Now that its attack had been spoiled, the strange animal wriggled on the ground as if it was in pain and screamed words of hate. So, that creature could talk! It was not actually an animal but a sentient being!  
Elven guards carried him away, bound with white, thin rope, while he squirmed and cursed.

The King himself came, kneeled in front of the hobbit and placed a hand on his cheek to force him to look into his eyes; then he asked with worry: “Are you hurt, Bilbo?”. Reading confusion on Bilbo's face, Thranduil ordered for a small glass of miruvor and only when he was sure his hobbit was tended to properly he rose and talked to the man.

“Mae govannen, Dúnadan. It looks like your quest has come to an end at last. Let me tell you, however, I am not pleased with this outcome. I did not expect this fiend to attack a member of my family under your watch, Estel”.

The man named Estel bowed and apologized, and then Thranduil questioned him about his mission and the capture of that strange being.

“For eight years I searched in the vales of Anduin, Mirkwood and Rhovanion to the confines of Mordor itself, looking for Gollum. Finally I found him lurking by a stagnant mere in the Dead Marshes, covered with green slime. He bit me, and I was less gentle than your hobbit. I will be glad to be rid of his company. Do you have news of Mithrandir?”.

When Thranduil spoke, Bilbo recognized a note of uncertainty and concern in the elf’s voice.  
“The last time we met him under these trees was four years ago. Surely you have been informed since there were a couple of your Dúnedain with him. I know not where he dwells now”.

So, Mithrandir was involved in this affair. Bilbo was very fond of the old wizard and of his awesome fireworks, but couldn’t imagine him meddling with dark souls like this Gollum. He lowered his gaze to observe the scratches on his arms and, oh, this won’t do at all, his garment was totally soiled, when he glimpsed a yellow glint through the grass. He bent over to pick up the small object and he noticed with surprise that it was a lovely golden ring. Maybe one of his elves had lost it, because it was too clean and smooth for having been there for long. He would have looked for his owner when they were back to the halls. Anyway, he didn’t follow the elves immediately, but lingered there waiting for Thranduil.

The hobbit deemed the safest place to keep a ring was a finger, so he put it on. His world faded to grey and a thin mist blurred all the shapes; sounds came to him muffled, as if he was waking up from sleep. The hobbit was bewildered, but he thought it was a side effect caused by the combination between the attack and the miruvor.

The elven King and the man were still talking privately.  
Bilbo was listening to the conversation, without any attempt of discretion. He felt that his attacker’s fate was his business too, since he was the one to be assaulted.

Thranduil and Estel had clearly forgotten his presence and Bilbo didn’t know if he felt resentful or glad for being ignored thus. He opted for glad at first, because the King would have sent him away, had he noticed his not respectable eavesdropping. However, he became annoyed after a while: he had just survived an aggression and for once he required some attention. But Thranduil and Estel kept on talking as if he wasn’t there at all.

Estel said: “Mithrandir was clear about the uttermost importance to catch and interrogate Gollum, but he never explained me the reason, or why he is connected to the evil in Dol Guldur and Mordor. We really need the wizard’s guidance now, and I must find a way to contact him. It’s better for me to wait for Mithrandir on the road, instead of approaching the city of Minas Tirith”.

The eleven King’s expression softened while he agreed with the man. “You cannot leave tonight, Estel; enjoy some weeks of rest in Mirkwood as my guest. Tomorrow I will send a message to Gondor. If Mithrandir is still there, we may hope to meet him here soon”.

Thranduil and Estel headed to the front door, still whispering one to each other.  
Bilbo walked behind them with defiance in his stride, his chin up, looking their back. Well, they were talking of important matters; it was wrong to expect them to take notice of his discomfort.

Things changed when they reached the halls or, to tell the truth, they didn’t change at all. Nobody came and asked how Bilbo was or if he needed help to clean his wounds. Elves with whom he was playing no longer than an hour ago weren’t even looking in his direction. The hobbit had never felt so small in his whole life, considering his height had never been an issue there.  
Why they were all acting as if he did not exist? As if he was…  
Invisible!

Was he dead? Maybe his injuries were more serious that he thought. Was he walking the elven halls of Mirkwood as a haunting ghost? It could not be: Thranduil and Estel had talked to him, touched him and even offered him a cup of miruvor. Or Gollum could have poisoned him. Maybe his fangs contained a venom that made his victims invisible, allowing him to feed undisturbed. Yes, that was a very far-fetched theory.

The hobbit hurried to his room, trying hard not to panic. There he forced himself to calm his breathing and started to recall every single little event occurred during that night. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes and Bilbo raised his hands to rub them.

It was then that he remembered the polished golden ring he found in the field. The hobbit removed the band of gold from his finger and felt something change in and around him. Bilbo felt refreshed, lighter, even happier. He ran to the mirror and admired his features, quite satisfied to find himself solid and tangible. He had the final proof of the ring’s strange peculiarity when he came out of his room and found that the elves finally noticed him.

Frightening experience aside, the Ring was useful. Even among friends the ability to become invisible was a convenient resource. Bilbo made sure to keep it hidden and safe, and made no mention of it to anyone.

The Ring did not belong to any elf, Bilbo was sure about that. Nobody he knew could forge an object with such power. He spent hours in the library looking for clues about magic jewelry and found nothing; apparently, elves were not interested in magic. For the same reason it was useless to address Thranduil or Legolas. Mithrandir was expected in Mirkwood any day now; Bilbo could show the Ring to him.

But, what if the wizard wanted the Ring for himself?  
Honestly, it was so fair and useful, a circle of golden perfection, a precious treasure.  
He had found the Ring, so why should he part from it?


	4. A Folk in Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events happened to Durin's folk after the loss of Erebor and the leaving of the Company.

The dwarves of Erebor waited for seven days in the shadow of the Mountain.

They prayed and hoped: for their King and kin to escape the deadly halls, for the beast to leave on its own, for a miracle of Mahal, for any kind of help. None of that came. And soon they realized it: they had been abandoned in their darkest hour, by their creator and by the free people of Middle-Earth, once called allies.

At twenty-four, the burden of leadership fell on prince Thorin’s shoulders. He turned his back on the lost mountain, now tomb of his brother, father, grandfather and many others and took very wise decisions.

He understood no city would have welcomed all of them at once, so he divided the survivors in smaller groups, each one led by two dwarves of proven worth. He sent the elderly and the wounded to his cousin Náin in the Iron Hills, for that was a short and easy trip to the East and he was sure Náin would have not sent the refugees away.

The situation allowed no comfort for the others. For years they travelled, struggling to preserve the dignity of their proud race. They worked at the best of their abilities; it was either that or starving.

Not even Thorin was spared, or any member of the Durin line. He spent years in the villages of men, hammer in his hand, unleashing his frustration on the hot metal. In the forge’s fire each time he saw the dragon’s breath, remembering the time in which kings and princes would have paid bags of gold for the dwarves’ craft and not what little needed for survival.

 

The valley of the dim rills.

Azanulbizar, it was called in the noble and ancient language of the dwarves; but it was not remembered for its streams or the Kheled-zâram, the lake of glass. Once again fire and ash reigned in the fate of the Durin’s folk.

In the year 2799 of the Third Age a numerous group of dwarves led by Thorin reached the valley. They were tired of a nomadic life and wished to settle down in the abandoned realm of Khazad-Dûm. It was an old dwarven kingdom built in the deep of the Misty Mountains, a strategic position at the center of Middle-Earth and renowned for its rich mines of mithril.

Luckily women and children were left behind, because the halls of Khazad-Dûm weren’t empty as they should have been. Orcs had taken possession of those sacred regions and, disturbed, they swarmed in the open field ready to slain any dwarf in sight. The dwarves didn’t expect that sudden attack and suffered many casualties. Fundin and Gróin were among the dead and Thorin himself was wounded when his shield was shattered. He replaced it with a branch of oak he had cut down and used it as weapon and defense both. From that day forth he was known among his people as Thorin Oakenshield.

The battle lasted for days, long enough for the dwarves to receive reinforcements from Náin of the Iron Hills. Náin himself was in the vanguard and fell by the hands of the orcs’ leader, Azog. Enraged by the loss of their valiant lord, the dwarves managed to fight off the enemy and claim a bitter victory.

Victory; but too many were the dead to savor that word. More than half of the dwarven army lay on the field and the survivors had to take a terrible decision regarding the bodies of their loved ones.  
For the first time in the history of their race they burned the corpses, because they were too many to be carried away and buried in stone. Those who were still able hacked most of the forest with axes still red with the blood of orcs. At night a huge pyre lit the darkness and awoke memories of Smaug and the Lonely Mountain in the hearts of the presents; the fire reached so high and the smoke was so thick they were visible from the elven realms of Lórien and Mirkwood.

The empty victory grew even more sorrowful because the dwarves couldn’t remain in Khazad-Dûm.  
Young Dáin, after his father’s death, had followed Azog up to the doors in the mountain. There he had beheaded the vile orc with his red axe and peeked into the dark halls. When he came back he was shivering and dread was in his eyes. Most supposed it was because of the loss of Náin and the turmoil of the battle, but he approached Thorin and whispered in his ear:

“Not only orcs plague Khazad-Dûm, Thorin Oakenshield, a more deadly danger dwells in its halls. You lost many today, you will lose everyone if you dare to walk through the doors, for Durin’s Bane still lives. The choice is yours, but nor me nor mine will follow you”.

Thorin listened carefully and heeded Dáin’s advice. Once again he and his people had to desert a mountain they would have called home.

 

After nearly a century from Smaug the Golden’s attack, Thorin started the foundation of a new dwarven fortress in the Blue Mountains, on the farther east, far away from Erebor. In that period his sister Dis married and gave birth to two sons, Fíli and Kíli, which Thorin immediately named his heirs.

It was a flourishing time for the dwarves. It seemed they finally had achieved the peace and stability they had worked so hard for. That bliss didn’t last for long.

The population grew too quickly, because the dwarves were no more a wandering people, vulnerable to attacks from enemies and hardships. While they were blessed with many newborns, other clans and families banished by Smaug reached the Blue Mountains and settled in the city of Tumunzahar and Gabilgathol. After a few decades there was not enough food to pass the winter.

 

Thorin called his advisors for a meeting. Balin son of Fundin was among them with his younger brother Dwalin, head of the guards and Thorin’s best friend; Glóin son of Gróin was there too; Dís and her two sons, Fíli and Kíli.

Thorin explained the situation in a honest way.

“The reports of the last week are clear. Our provisions this year will suffice for three quarters of the population, or until January. With a rigid rationing we could live through the winter but at spring we should be forced to abandon the Mountains”. Thorin was not having any of it; he would pull out his own beard before allowing his people to leave.

Glóin intervened: “Are our mines not all open and active? Why cannot they support us? Did we become so lax in exile we don’t remember how to dig up gold from the earth?”.

Balin stepped in, to prevent Glóin to add more fuel to the fire: “The mines are not our major issue, Glóin son of Gróin. We cannot eat gems or drink gold and silver doesn’t grow from the soil and blooms with fruits. Our position is our greatest weakness”.

Thorin nodded and tapped with his index on a map that was unfolded on the table.

“We are located in the Western area of Middle-Earth. We lack the central position of Khazad-Dûm and its rich mines of mithril. And we lost the optimal geographical conformation of Erebor, with the nearby cities of Dale and Esgaroth. Our closest neighbors now are the hobbits of the Shire…”.

Fíli interrupted his uncle, bewildered: “I thought we were in good terms with the hobbits of the Shire. Did their Thain let you know they intend to stop the trade?”.

Thorin reassured the presents: “no, Fíli. But they are a simple and reserved folk, afraid of strangers. They will trade with us, but they will always prefer a hobbit as their blacksmith and wouldn’t welcome one more dwarf than necessary, and only for a short time. In addition they usually don’t need more than horseshoes, pots and pans and garden tools”.

After the first question had been addressed, Dwalin asked: “What do you propose we do then? In winter our trade with Gondor and Rohan is slow. Hobbits are assisting us, but they won’t do more than that. I honestly do hope you are not suggesting turning to the elves”.

Thorin didn’t even try to suppress a smirk.

“Our situation is not that grim yet, Dwalin son of Fundin. Even if it was, I wouldn’t lower myself to beg for their support. I trust you all remember how much help we received from the elves, last time we needed it. That’s exactly what we can expect from them today: nothing!”.

He considered the expressions of every dwarf in the room and noticed with satisfaction that they all agreed with him. Then he continued:

“I see only two solution. The first is proceeding with the rationing and hope the provisions will last until summer. The second is going back to work where they need our particular competences for a couple of seasons. This means that some of us should leave the Mountains”.

Glóin rose from his chair. “I will not allow my Gimli to starve in winter and lose his home in spring. I prefer to leave myself! I thought that was also your intention, Thorin”.

Thorin turned away from Glóin and focused on the map, but listened attentively to the whispers exchanged in the hall. Then he raised his head and said solemnly:

“It is. We have no choice. We must venture East”.

Dwalin was the first to nod to express his approval.

Thorin addressed Balin: “Gather a group of willing dwarves with different skills. They must be loyal to my line and hard working. With no family to be left behind, if possible, so they won’t suffer to be apart from them. Prepare a standard contract for each member of the Company and find a scribe to help you with that task”.

 

After a week a company of twelve dwarves was formed.

Of course Balin and Dwalin would have accompanied Thorin and they were the first to volunteer. Glóin was the next with Óin, his brother. A healer can be handy in any situation after all.  
The scribe Balin had recruited to draft the contracts managed to convince his family to join the Company. The elder brother agreed, hoping a change of air would benefit the reputation of the middle one, which never adapted to that life in exile and had collected a fair amount of charges for theft.  
Another small group of three dwarves offered their services, two brothers and their cousin. They were not related to the Durin’s line but they were eager to embark on a journey with Thorin Oakenshield and prove themselves useful.

 

There was only one last problem Thorin had to deal with.

She had her back towards him, maybe to conceal the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

With a soft voice he said: “I’m not leading them to battle. You’ll have them both here, safe, in a couple of years”. He stopped, waiting for an answer. None came.  
“They are no dwarflings. At eighty, they are old enough to work and learn how to provide for our people”.

Dís turned abruptly and spoke with anger:

“You have no children, Thorin, yet you wish to steal mine. You have no idea how a parent could feel. Why don’t you leave Kíli here? He’s not even eighty, brother. Or Fíli, two years of ruling should teach him how to run the Mountains”.

Thorin knew he had won.

“You accuse me of being cruel but you speak of separating Fíli and Kíli. That is not an option either of us is available to consider”.

Dís knew well enough when her brother Thorin was speaking and when it was the leader of their folk. She accepted his decision and bade her heart to say farewell to her sons for a while.

So, on a cloudy day of November a Company of thirteen dwarves left the blue Mountains heading East.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure it all works logically in here but, well, I need those thirteen elsewhere, ok? ^_^


	5. Never Venture East

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it's a wise advice for hobbits, it is for dwarves too.

Strange news roamed though the elven King’s halls that day.

Bilbo heard whispers of intruders in the wood, rumors of elves being attacked by ruthless creatures and finally assurance that the enemy had been captured and that it was a dwarf.

Bilbo imagined Thranduil would prefer to keep him away from a dangerous lunatic, but he was terribly curious. He had only read about dwarves in his books, none of them actually written by one. He just knew dwarves were slightly taller than him, wore long and braided beards and buried themselves in the deep caverns of the earth looking for shiny treasures. If the loot was not precious enough, the dwarf would not leave the mountain and end up eating the gems he dug out and dying for that. He was pretty sure of it, because Bilbo was an educated hobbit and didn’t believe those legends that told dwarves were made of rock. What a silly notion!

Bilbo’s feet brought him to the throne room, while his mind was still busy deciding if it was a wise choice or not. The hobbit concluded it is not a good sign when the parts of your body take different decisions. He hid behind a pillar to have a glance of the creature who dared threaten the peace of his home.

The dwarf didn’t seem dangerous at all. He was on his knees, hands bound, his expression buried in a mane of black hair, two elven guards at his sides. Bilbo opened his mouth in surprise when he heard Thranduil speak to the dwarf as if he knew him.

“For what purpose Thorin Oakenshield travels this far East?”.

Bilbo’s eyes darted from Thranduil to the dwarf.

Not receiving any answer, Thranduil posed another question:

“Why did you attack my people at their merrymaking?”.

His honor at stake, the dwarf, Thorin, raised his head and with a tired voice said: “I did not. I approached them to beg for food”. And when he noticed the smirk that flashed across Thranduil’s face he added defiantly: “I should have known no help comes from elves, not even when people are starving in their very woods”.

Thorin’s words had their effect on the elf. Thranduil rose from his throne and shouted: “not even the vastest army of Middle-Earth would have spared Erebor its fate and not even the foolest king would have wasted the lives of his soldiers trying. You will be given some food in your cell, but you will not leave Mirkwood until you tell me what brought you here”.

The King turned to sit and the guards moved to help the dwarf on his feet and carry him away, when Thorin spoke again, concern in his voice: “I was not travelling alone. Thirteen of us entered the forest…”. The request hung in the air, under Thranduil’s cold eyes. Pleading openly, he added “…Please”. At a gesture of the King, the guards dragged the dwarf away.

For Bilbo there was nothing more to see. He returned to his room, wondering about the curious demeanor of Thranduil. He was a good leader, wise and kind, he would never deny help to those who ask for it. Bilbo knew dwarves were not trustworthy, but the one he saw in the throne room today, exhausted from the road and drained by the hunger, surely could do no harm to the elves or the wood. Bilbo saw no reason to imprison him, he would have gifted him with provisions, taught the way out of the forest, maybe accompanied him to its edge, and asked to never come back. And what about the other twelve dwarves? If they were not dead yet, maybe they were planning an attack to free their companion; if they were in danger, it was the elves’ duty to make every effort to rescue them.

Bilbo sat on the edge of his bed, deep in thought.

He could go to King Thranduil and ask directly to him what he planned to do with this group of dwarves. Of course they had to find the other twelve first, alive if possible. He was ready to beg in order to get a rescue team on the road. He would have also asked what was Thranduil’s relationship with this Thorin Oakenshield. It had been strange to learn that Thranduil actually knew at least one dwarf. Bilbo didn’t hear about any visiting their elven halls. Obviously there was nothing here shiny enough to get their attention. But Bilbo knew Thranduil would not be glad to see Bilbo was interested in talking about dwarves. That was obviously calling for trouble.

He could address Legolas, that was always available for a nice chat. The young elf was not so unyielding in his beliefs and would not go and report their conversation to Thranduil.

Or he could talk with Vinca. But he was sure Vinca knew as much as he did, more or less nothing. Her main worry would have been to make sure the dwarf received seven meals and ate them all. A kind gesture, but it could be easily mistaken for torture from an underfed non-hobbit prisoner. Anyway, if he wished to talk with someone before making anything rushed, Vinca was undoubtedly the wisest choice. And once again the hobbit found himself in the situation in which his mind wanted to go and find the nurse, but the rest of his body couldn’t care enough to rise from the bed.

This whole affair was not going to end well. Dwarves! In Mirkwood!

Late that evening, news arrived to Bilbo’s ears that a group of dwarves had been found wandering aimlessly in the forest. He couldn’t help but feel relieved. Lately Mirkwood had become a tricky place to cross for those unfamiliar with its paths and creepy creatures skittered in the dark. He couldn’t wish anybody to get lost and die a horrible death in the forest, not even dwarves.

Nosing around shamelessly Bilbo came to learn that each dwarf had been put in a cell, separated from the others, in order to prevent exchange of information. The King expected nothing less than the truth and if the prisoners shared no contacts they couldn’t make up any lie. It seemed he was still committed to get the real reason of their presence in the wood out of them. Bilbo couldn’t figure out how it would have affected the elves in any way or how could thirteen strayed dwarves be a threat.

The hobbit was under the impression that something was eluding him, then he had an intuition. The first dwarf! He did not know his friends had been found. And whole. With beards, beads, weapons, empty bellies and harsh words. Really a bad lot, to be honest, but anyway, it was his duty as host to pass the news to that Thorin. He was sure nobody cared to go and inform him.

Bilbo spent a couple of hours lying in his bed, slowing gathering the courage to carry out the deed and pushing away the horrible image of him being caught. He had his ring and he was certain he could sneak among the guards with not many risks, but accidents can always happen. He told himself that, even if he was discovered, Thranduil loved him enough to forget about the act of rebellion of a young hobbit and forgive him quickly. In the worst scenario he would end up locked with an angry dwarf for some days but again, he was not made of gold or stone and the dwarf would not eat him.

At last, Bilbo decided to go to the dwarf and let him know his companions were safe. It was just a due act of pity, after all. Cursing his Took side, he retrieved his magic Ring from a drawer, put it on and disappeared.


	6. Conversation in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo talks with Thorin.

Bilbo Baggins walked down the corridors. He felt his heart in his throat, pulsing with fear and guilt.

There weren’t many guards on duty, mainly because the elves were very confident of the magical protections of their halls. Nobody could enter against their will, as nobody could leave too. Guards were mainly needed in case the prisoners called for them, to confess their crimes or to request something.

Bilbo, as every hobbit, was gifted with silent feet, and with his magic ring on he would be caught only if he started singing or dancing in full sunlight or walked directly into an elf. Considering he had not the intention to perform any of those stupid actions, he was impossible to detect and was happily grateful about that.

It took a hour to find the cell where the dwarf was kept. As he suspected, he was alone, no guard was watching him closely. Though there was an empty bowl near the door, the dwarf seemed in no better shape than before. He just sat there, legs crossed, staring at the floor.

Bilbo whispered tentatively: “Thorin Oakenshield?”.

The dwarf raised his eyes and looked beyond the cell bars. When he saw nothing, he shook the head and went back to stare blankly into nothingness. Was he getting crazy? Half a day in a elvish prison and he was starting to hear voices. He was sure in a week he would lose his mind completely.

Bilbo tried again: “hey, you! Dwarf!”.

This time Thorin answered because he was not so far gone to believe his mind would address him that way. “Who is there? I can see nobody”.

“Nobody can, indeed”.

Thorin moved from his position, trying to get a better view of the hall and find the source of the voice. He realized there was actually nobody to be seen.

“What are you, who wanders in the darkness of these halls like a whisper? A ghost? A wizard?”

“A mortal like you. I just wish not to be seen. And I am not here to talk about my nature”.

“Why are you here then? I am no friend of elves, as I presume you are since you are on that side of these bars. And I will not talk about my business with air, for that will only carry my words to the ears of the elven King”.

“I am here to inform you that your companions have been found. They are all alive and well, if a bit worn out, from what I have heard”.

Thorin remained silent for some time, then nodded slightly.

At last with halting voice he said: “You have my gratitude. I didn’t expect to find such kindness in here, from… A half-elf?”.

Bilbo knew better than to give away his identity so easily. He already stated he was mortal and that was more than enough information for the dwarf. He was glad nonetheless to see the dwarf was well enough for trying. Relieved this Thorin appreciated his good news and not having any more reason to linger there, the hobbit took his leave. “Fare you well, Thorin Oakenshield, may you see reason and tell King Thranduil about your travel, so you can leave his kingdom in peace”.

Thorin seemed unresponsive at first, but when he understood the other being was really leaving he grasped a bar with the left hand and stretch the right one through the opening in an attempt to stop him.

“Wait, wait! You can walk these halls unseen, could you please go and find my kin, make sure they are all well and tell them I am alive? Will you grant me this wish?”.

Bilbo thought that it was a fair request, but honestly, roaming around in the cell area looking for twelve dwarves seemed a bit too much of a favor from him, but he had not it in his heart to deny the dwarf.  
“I will try in some days maybe, not tonight”, and with that he left.

 

He went back to Thorin’s cell after four days. He had not looked for the other dwarves, it still felt too risky. But he was curious. He needed to discover why his King was so crossed with this group of dwarves, what they had done and why they were travelling through Mirkwood. He had to force the truth out of Thorin’s lips.

Thorin was not in the mood for conversation, when he understood the other did not go in search of his friends. He glared in front of him, his back on the wall and waited with patience for the hobbit to apologize for not doing his bidding or to go and accomplish that small mission.

Bilbo on the other hand was too eager to speak.  
He kneeled as near as possible to the bars, near enough to make his whispers reach Thorin’s ears and ready to shift away if the dwarf made any move to grab him. There was no reason to play smart and trick the prisoner: Bilbo asked directly the reason of Thorin’s Company passing through the elven realm. He swore he wouldn’t share the information with Thranduil or any other but himself. He promised to help their cause, if he was sure the thirteen dwarves did not pose a threat for the elves. Bilbo meant it. It still didn’t seem just to him to imprison them, when their only fault had been to get lost on the path and finish their provisions. But he had absolutely no clue on how to do that. He did not feel brave enough to present to the King and beg him to release the group. He would have to confess he had sneaked in the night and talked to Thorin without permission. Bilbo didn’t need his nurse to explain him it was not a respectable hobbit behavior.  
After a while Thorin became deeply annoyed and snapped.

“I will not talk to you, you useless spirit! And your chatter will drive me mad long before than being stuck in this cell. If you want answers from me, do as I already told you and go look for the members of my Company. I need to be sure they are all unhurt and fed”.

Nobody in the elven kingdom ever dared to speak to Bilbo with such rudeness and he did not intend to have any of it. “Listen now, you Master Dwarf. I am actually trying to be of some use to you. If you think I’m free to fool around looking for dwarves without risk to be caught and punished you are rather mistaken. And don’t forget that I’m totally respectable and at the moment I should be anywhere but here, trying to convince a pig-headed dwarf to improve his condition. If my presence bothers you so, I can promise you I will never come back, and you can rot in here until your drown in your own beard!”.

After delivering his speech without even breathing, Bilbo turned his head around, afraid of having been too loud, but no guard came down the corridor. Then he dared to hit the floor with his hand. This insufferable dwarf! He was locked in a cell and had still the nerve to give him orders. Maybe Thranduil was right: if meddled with, dwarves could prove to be very troublesome. And he felt his Tookish side was getting the better of him.

Thorin was surprised by the visitor’s reaction. He, too, was not used to be spoken so harshly. Even during the worst days, everyone treated him with the respect he deserved; as a dwarf blacksmith, if not as the prince of Erebor, that in some places was a title much worthier.

He did not want the other to leave. He was precious to him, and he cherished his company. He spent half of the day thinking if he would heard his voice in the night and the other half thinking about his friends. It was a fairly good amount of time. But he needed to know, he was devoured by anxiety.

“I apologize. Please, don’t leave. There are my nephews in the group”.

Oh. That changed something. Bilbo was at a loss for words. He could not blame Thorin for being nervous. His family. He did not know the feeling of sharing someone’s blood. He called Thranduil and Legolas family, but it was not quite the same thing. He felt a stronger connection with Lady Took, being of the same race, but again that was not like having his real family by his side.

In a whisper he asked: “nephews?”.  
Thorin answered, a fondness in his voice Bilbo had yet to hear. “Yes, my two sister-sons. I trust them but they are young and not used to be separated and confined in a room. I am afraid they could somehow earn the guards’ wrath”.

“Ok, Thorin, I will do what I can to find them. If I am not be back in three days, it means I have been discovered and used as a pincushion for prince Legolas’ arrows, so feel a bit guilty for me, please. What are their names?”.

Thorin couldn’t help but smile, both for the joke and for the fact the ghost was going to find his nephews. And Bilbo couldn’t help but notice that Thorin was obscenely handsome when smiling. He thanked both Ring and darkness for hiding his blushing.


	7. More Conversations in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets the rest of the Company.

This time Bilbo was afraid.

The other dwarves were kept in a more populated area and the chance of meeting the guards was higher. But what really scared him was the possible reaction of the prisoners. Thorin had been quiet enough, but Bilbo understood now that hearing a voice in the dark, after being stuck in a silent room in an enemy place for days, could be quite upsetting. He had to roll the dice and wait. He could be ignored, shouted at, or maybe a simple dwarf would have treated him politely and the day after informed the guards there was someone invisible carrying messages for the prisoners.

Bilbo explored carefully the surroundings and found the first occupied room. In the corner sat an old dwarf.

“Hey you, Master dwarf”. The hobbit tried to get his attention. It worked. With a puzzled expression the dwarf appeared ready to listen.

“I am looking for Fíli and Kíli. Thorin sent me. He said he is their uncle”.

The dwarf jumped on his feet: “Is Thorin alive? Mahal bless you! This is good news! Where do the elves keep him?”.

Bilbo explained the situation at the best of his abilities, trying to convey the point that he wasn’t there to open the doors and set them free. When Balin got all his answers, it was his turn to give some information to Bilbo.

“You are looking for two very young dwarves: Kíli doesn’t even have a proper beard and looks similar to Thorin. Fíli has golden hair instead. He’s the only one among us”. And then he posed a question Bilbo had hoped not to hear: “While you’re at it, would you mind to pay a visit to my little brother Dwalin? Don’t be shy, he might appear aggressive with his bald head and tattoos but he’s just a big teddy bear. I can tell it, I know him since before he was born. You are not an elf, are you? No? Good then, you’ll be quite safe”.

Not happy at all about having to approach a bald bear-dwarf with killing instincts towards elves, Bilbo went in search of the next prisoner, that was clearly not Fíli, Kíli or Dwalin, but since he had promised Thorin to bring news to the whole Company he spoke to him too. When the dwarf heard about the hobbit’s mission he pleaded:

“Please, look for my Ori too, my youngest brother. He is a kind soul, a scribe, not a warrior. He does not deserve to dwell in a elvish prison. I have another little brother beside Ori, Nori is his name, but I take he is faring much better, just check he is ok and in one piece, will you?”.

Oh, well. He had already given his words to the other dwarves and was ready to check on everyone, so he didn’t worry too much about adding names to his list.

Finding the next dwarf was easy, because he was not brooding in a corner but singing in a language Bilbo had never heard before. When he was near enough he noticed this dwarf had a strange hat on his head. Even if the hat could have covered some baldness, he didn’t seem fierce enough to be Dwalin. This time the hobbit didn’t wait for the request but was the first to ask if the dwarf needed to send some words to his friends and received a warm smile.

“If it is not much of a trouble for you, would you mind to check on my brother and cousin? My brother Bombur is a red-headed oliphaunt, you cannot miss him. Just be sure he is given enough food, no green one would be perfect. My cousin Bifur, um, he’s hard to miss too: he’s got an axe stuck in the middle of his head. He cannot speak your language but I am sure he’ll enjoy some company. We are a peculiar family indeed”. Bofur laughed quietly, aware of the fact he could be overheard. The dwarf seemed in good spirit, so Bilbo politely bade him goodbye and moved on.

He was roaming around, thinking that these dwarves, if a bit eccentric, with impossible hair and strange clothes, really posed no threat at all, when he reached another occupied cell. Behind the bars sat a bald dwarf, his round head covered with tattoos. He did match the description of Dwalin Bilbo was given. He counted to ten, then to ten again, then he called himself a coward and finally dared to speak:

“Ehm… Mister Dwalin?”.

“Ay, who’s there?”

“A friend… Of your brother Balin”. Yes! Bilbo patted himself on the shoulder for the clever tactic. First he had called Dwalin with his name, then he had quickly added his brother. Now the dwarf should not consider him an enemy target. Bilbo quickly reproached himself too for being scared, while invisible, of an unarmed dwarf behind strong iron bars.

“Not sure my brother has invisible friends in elven kingdoms, but I’ll judge you by your words”, Dwalin said gruffly, crossing his arms on his chest and assuming an imposing stance.

Bilbo once again told the whole story, that he had found Thorin and that he was looking for Fíli and Kíli.

Dwalin became amused: “Ahahah! Those boys! You can tell their uncle they honored the Line of Durin. That would make him proud. They didn’t let themselves get caught easily and put on an excellent fight with those blasted pointy-eared elves! Our young Kíli with a bow! Can you imagine it? No idea where they are now, anyway”.

Line of Durin? The name Durin triggered something in Bilbo’s mind.

Bilbo was becoming quite able in finding the Company and talking to them. With confidence he approached the next dwarf but didn’t expect the reaction he got. At first the dwarf insulted him, his family and every elf that ever lived and will live in Middle-Earth. Or at least that was the idea Bilbo got, since the dwarf had the decency to speak in Khuzdul. After yelling out all the anger, the dwarf tried to order Bilbo to let him go.

“I cannot rot in this cursed prison! I have a wife! I have a son! Here, look!”.

He pulled out from his neck a thick gold chain with a locket at its end. He opened the locket and forced it through the bars, holding it with both hands. Bilbo jumped away quickly, afraid it was a trick to grab him, but dared to have a look, hearing the excited tone of the dwarf.

“This beauty is my wife and you won’t find a brighter gem in one thousand years. And this young warrior is my Gimli. He is only sixty-two years old, I cannot leave him alone. I have a family! And you took my brother Óin too. Open the damned door!”.

Bilbo answered politely that he didn’t know where the keys were, but he found his family really adorable.

The hobbit concluded his conversation with Glóin and continued. From what he learned, those dwarves were big softies. First of all they asked about their kin and relatives: brothers, cousins, nephews. Even Dwalin, the more ferocious one, asked for news of his older brother. He and Glóin added threats and insults towards the elves but, honestly, Bilbo would have been the first to be a bit pissed off, had he been in the same situation.

Dawn was approaching and Bilbo decided he could visit one last dwarf that night. In the small room he saw a young one and he was pretty sure it was Kíli. He was walking restless in the cell so he waited for him to stop pacing; when he did, he leaned to a wall, touching the cold surface with his brow. He seemed stressed. Bilbo called his name softly. Kíli’s expression was shocked, but recovered quickly. He just tried hard to find the source of the calling, his mouth open and shifting his head from one side to the other; Bilbo was once again grateful to have such a useful trinket.

Bilbo asked: “Are you Kíli, aren’t you? Thorin’s nephew”.

Kíli nodded, then asked in a whisper: “what do you know about Thorin? Is he here?”.

Bilbo informed the young dwarf that his uncle was kept there and was worried about their well-being, but alive and not mistreated. After being reassured about his uncle’s fate, Kíli begged for news of his brother and pleaded with broken voice that if they had a heart they should put them in the same cell. Bilbo told him he was working on it, on finding information, not on bargaining with the elven guards for a double room. But when he offered to bring a message to Fíli from him, Kíli refused, inviting the hobbit to tell his brother only that he was as good as he could be in an elvish prison.

 

Bilbo went back to his quarters and, when he was safely behind the wooden door, he dared to remove the Ring. It had been a productive night and he was deadly tired; the dwarves were a big hassle indeed. Before giving in to his weariness, the hobbit headed to his desk, wrote quickly some names on a scroll of parchment and hid it in the lowest drawer. The Baggins part of his conscience still tried to convince him it was a wise idea to go to Thranduil before things got out of his hands. He laid down on the bed and slept well past second breakfast.

The next night Bilbo went back to Thorin’s cell.

“I found Kíli. He is pretty well, not particularly happy but undamaged. I got to talk with Bofur, Balin, Dwalin, Dori, Glóin too. Tomorrow I will look for the rest of your group; I still have to find your Fíli, then Ori, Nori, Óin, Bombur and Bifur”.

The relief on Thorin’s face was evident, and to Bilbo the room seemed somehow brighter.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me receiving news of my friends and it comforts me to learn they are in good health. It appears you took a liking to us: you remember all of our names”.

Bilbo was flattered but didn’t want to admit he found the dwarves’ company quite enjoyable.

“You are not the only one to have relatives in those cells, Thorin Oakenshield. I’ve never been so busy in my whole life. I still have to find Fíli, be sure Ori is not upset, Nori is in one piece, Bombur eats enough, check on Óin but be careful on not to alarm him, same thing with Bifur. Don’t think I’m smart, I just wrote it all down yesterday night when I got back to my room. I always loved family trees and now I’m glad to say I have a grasp on dwarven ones too”.

Bilbo didn’t spend much time with Thorin that night because he wanted to finish his job quickly and go back to his normal life, with no dwarves in it. Luckily the elves hadn’t noticed anything weird and didn’t intensify their watch.

He was relieved to find the remaining members of the Company in an acceptable state, especially Fíli.

At first Thorin’s nephew had appeared devastated, but when Bilbo informed him about his uncle and brother well-being it seemed a big burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Fíli was really grateful and offered him his services. The hobbit thought the dwarf could offer not much from behind those bars but was too good mannered to point it out.

Bilbo spent the rest of the time at his disposal delivering messages among the dwarves and reached his room completely exhausted. He slept a couple of hours and then forced himself out of bed, afraid that a long sleep would have aroused suspicions about his nightly activities. But if the elves noticed something unusual in his behavior, they didn’t let it show.

Now Bilbo found himself at a turning point: he had done what Thorin asked of him, he had made sure all the dwarves were indeed alive, fed and in good conditions, and had brought words of hope and love to the respective relatives. His task achieved, he could easily forget about them. Oh, well, not that easily. Was he ready to allow them to be kept in those cells for months, or years, or maybe forever? Honestly, their freedom was Thorin’s responsibility now. He had to swallow his pride and speak with Thranduil. Why Bilbo did meddle with dwarves at all? That was not respectable, that was not what he had been taught and he had already risked too much for those strangers. Nor the dwarves nor his conscience had the right to ask more from him.

At the mercy of that inner struggle, Bilbo paced nervously in his private garden, not being able of remaining still in one spot; he was torturing the plants, scratching the trees’ bark. Oh. An oak. Feeling guilty for the innocent tree, his fingers involuntarily ran to his wrist, finding his golden bracelet.


	8. Carved in Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo fails at being kind to Thorin; Thorin tells something to Bilbo.

At first he thought he just dreamt it. Then that it was a trick of his mind. Finally he understood it was his friend calling feebly his name from beyond the bars.

“Thorin. There. In the corner. On your left. Can you see it?”.

Thorin moved from the back of the room and approached with curiosity the spot pointed out by Bilbo. There was a round shape on the floor. Clearly Bilbo had left it there for him to find, without having to risk a contact with his hands. Thorin marveled at how silent the other could be. Maybe he had been there watching him for hours before speaking. Not that he had any reason to do so.

He picked up the small object to examine it, but as soon as his fingers touched its surface, he recognized the material: gold. A gold bracelet. Elven made. Two curved bands linked together. On each one of them a word was carved.

Thorin turned towards the corridor waiting for an explanation.

Bilbo spoke: “I know dwarves cherish gold over anything else. That’s my gift to you. If you like it of course. I’m not sure it can be compared to dwarven jewelry”.

It was undoubtedly a beautiful object, finely crafted. Not something Thorin would wear of course, with its curved shape and elven tengwar engraved in the metal; but being a present from his kind spirit then it was to him extremely precious. He tried to sound as much regretful as he could while saying:

“I cannot read these letters”.

Thorin heard a chocked giggle from Bilbo’s position.

“That’s a pity. Because, you see, that is my name, actually”.

The dwarf’s eyes darted to where Bilbo sat. Then he raised the bracelet to their level, as if he hoped to suddenly be blessed with understanding, having the tengwar at one inch from his nose. No hidden meaning sprang out from them anyway, no matter the distance. He lowered the bracelet, defeated.

“This is totally unfair, Master Whisper, you already knew I do not know the elven script”, Thorin said, glaring in the darkness, this time not needing to feign regret for his ignorance.

“I gave it to you because it’s made of gold, not for the writing on it”, Bilbo replied a bit too bluntly.

“If you think this gold is more important to me than the name on it, I must say you don’t really know me at all, nor my people”. The dwarf did absolutely nothing to hide the hurt.

Bilbo was embarrassed; he didn’t mean to offend him. When he touched his bracelet in the garden, he couldn’t help but to think about Thorin and felt the desire for him to have it. He thought that giving his friend something with his name on it would have been intriguing, but the main idea was just giving Thorin an object worth the attention of a dwarf.

Receiving no answer, Thorin hoped he hadn’t scared his friend away.

Indeed, that spirit did not know anything about him or his people. He was a friend of elves, maybe one of them. Thorin was well aware of how bad elves considered and treated dwarves. He was their prisoner after all.

But this being had proved to be kind, if not a bit naïve, and yet he couldn’t leave him all the blame. It was also his fault the ghost didn’t know about him because, even if he had promised to tell him everything about his travel through Mirkwood in exchange for the information about his Company, he actually didn’t. He was still afraid the friendly behavior was a subtle trick to make him spill his secrets. But, reconsidering, it was not like things could go much worse than that.

So, with a deep sigh, he began to speak:

“I had gold once. A mountain of gold and silver and gems under my Mountain. It cost my people everything else. A dragon attacked my homeland and in a hour turned it from a prosper and joyous kingdom to a grave of ashes and molten metals. The noise was unbearable: I heard pillars of stone so large you would need ten grown dwarves to embrace them crumble to the ground. And screams, never ending cries as my Mountain fell apart from the inside. I watched my father disappear beyond its doors, too young to stop him or follow and share his fate. My brother and grandfather were already gone; of my family, only me and my sister survived. but I had other relatives, uncles and cousins, people to take care of. I did all that I could for them when, with a beat of his wings, Smaug turned us from a wealthy folk to a bunch of beggars. I loved to bend metal and that I did: I worked as a blacksmith to provide them with everything they needed, food, clothes, a home. Once we had gold, and I loved how it glittered in the light, how it reacted to my hammer, how beautiful it was when it adorned our bodies. Then it became a dire need. I still loved it, because the few gold coins I earned during the day, in the evening could buy our dinner and put a smile on my nephew’s faces. I am a dwarf and gold will always call to my heart and enthrall me, I will always feel the desire to own it, but I am well aware there is so much more in this world, which glitters with the same brightness. And as well I am aware that our gold attracted the damned beast. Had we been less greedy and proud, we’d still have all our family and our home”.

Bilbo listened to Thorin’s speech with rapture, almost not daring to breath. He watched the dwarf’s head drop and had to move closer to hear the last sentences. His hands ached from the urge to go in there and pat Thorin’s shoulder, let his fingers slide through the dark hair that were now covering his face. Was the dwarf crying? No, his voice had been nearly a whisper at the end, but the tone was firm. Well, Bilbo was about to.  
Thorin raised his head and considered his surroundings, an interrogative look (no tears, Bilbo observed) on his face, expecting some kind of reaction.

“I understand…”. Bilbo cursed himself for how broken his voice sounded.

But Thorin shook his head, his beads radiating tiny silver sparkles, tightened his grip on the bracelet and continued:

“Decades ago we settled down in the Blue Mountains. I wished for my kin to return to their old habits, living through mining and trade. Things went very well for a while and in that period Fíli and Kíli were born. We were ready to support a small community. But as the years passed more and more dwarves banished from Erebor reached our new cities of Belegost and Nogrod, as you call them. They were much more numerous and faster than I had predicted. The Blue Mountains are not fully self-sufficient yet. Those of us who can travel and work were invited to do so”.

Thorin stopped for a moment, considering if going forward with his revelations. He felt a mix of anger and wrecked pride rise within his heart as he added:

“This is the true reason of our travel. We were heading to Esgaroth to find a job, as blacksmiths, as cooks, as toymakers. Then we planned to move to Rohan and Gondor. But now we are stuck here, all because of that blasted elf. Since I know him, Thranduil spent all his energies in destroying my life and those of my people. I cannot believe he dares to call himself a king when he is so foolish, careless and cruel”.

Until then Bilbo had felt strangely in connection with the dwarf, but he cannot stand to hear him insult his King, the elf that saved his life. He was sure Thorin didn’t know Thranduil at all, and he was going to state it very clearly, after all he was a grateful and respectable hobbit.

“I imagine in your opinion a good king would have sacrificed all of his people to kick out the dragon from your Mountain. You are the foolish one, Thorin Oakenshield, if you lived all these years believing such a think possible! I read about Erebor and I heard Thranduil in the throne room, I know you hate elves for not providing you with an army”.

Thorin was shocked. How could this creature be so misled? The point was not that!

“I do not hate elves for that! I blame them because they just stood there in a neat line and watched. And what a show we must have performed! Erebor alight with the dragon’s flames. Children were running around looking for their parents, the wounded screamed their pain. We had no King, our leaders were scattered and overcome by fear. I myself had no idea what to do. I did not expect the elves to fight the dragon for us, but I did expect help! Food, water, a shelter from the cold nights. Not a single elf came down to us. They left a whole folk there to die!”

Thorin was shaking with rage but Bilbo couldn’t see him. He had his hands covering his eyes, as if he was himself assisting to that dreadful scene and wished to hide from it. It hadn’t been easy at all for him to listen to Thorin. He had always believed their kind to be blinded by unjustified hatred. He thought it was a matter of clashing cultures and interests, because dwarves disliked what elves loved deeply. He even read about a group of dwarves burning a whole forest once. But now it was difficult to accept the elves’ behavior. He couldn’t stop thinking obsessively “Why?” and “How could him?”. Thranduil had abandoned the people of Erebor when Smaug the Golden had taken their home. Nobody can be so cruel. But for that moment the hobbit pushed those thoughts aside, bade his mind to calm down and focus on another point.

“You are their leader, aren’t you? Grandson of Thrór, the last King Under the Mountain?”.

Thorin turned to fix the void surrounding Bilbo but said nothing.

“I didn’t remember at first, but when Dwalin spoke about the line of Durin, the name Durin rang a bell in my head. I went to the library and carried out some research. Durin was your forefather, and you are his heir, right?”.

Thorin gave a quick nod, as if he was ashamed by Bilbo’s discovery. Bilbo continued, giving voice to his thoughts:

“Since the fall of Erebor you provided for your folk alone. You didn’t mean only your family when you mentioned you had people to take care of…”.

Thorin interrupted the hobbit: “There is nothing heroic in that: I had no choice, seeing them dying one by one was not an option. If I had perished in the Mountain another dwarf would have done the same. And I had help, from the right people. From my people. But look at me now and tell me if you see a prince. I’ll finish my days in an elvish cell, because we are like butterflies to those elves and our lives last the time of a night”.

Bilbo was not having any of it.

“Your heart is carved in gold, Thorin Oakenshield. And I will get you and your friends out of here”.


	9. Going Down, Deeper Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo manages to free the dwarves.

Bilbo tried hard to find a way to free the dwarves. He was burdened with the awareness he was their only chance, since Thorin was still too stubborn to talk with the elven King and anyway, even if he had, that wasn’t a guarantee of freedom.  
The hobbit’s presence lifted up the Company’s mood. Now they were bolder, mocking the elves in the open and throwing them all the green food they really couldn’t swallow. Peas, seriously?  
Bilbo wasn’t happy about it: he suspected the dwarves believed him to be a powerful being with magical skills. They were waiting for him to come up with the most splendid plan to make them disappear under Thranduil’s nose. The truth was he was an ordinary hobbit with a Ring of invisibility. Not much of a hero.

At last the solution dawned on Bilbo thanks to the geographical structure of the elven kingdom. The hobbit couldn’t sneak thirteen short but very visible dwarves out through the halls, accompany them to the front door and wave them safe journey with a white handkerchief. He had to focus on the nearest exit to their cells. The closest breach to the outside was a trapdoor that led to an underground river, used by the elves to dispatch empty barrels down to Esgaroth. If Bilbo managed to guide the dwarves to that room the job was done. The Forest River was a wise choice also because Esgaroth was the Company’s destination.

Bilbo was now totally convinced it had been a great mistake from Thranduil’s part to imprison Thorin and his Company. They didn’t do anything to deserve it, first of all. But Thorin was also the heir of Durin, the prince of Erebor, a king in fact, if only he wished to declare himself so. Therefore Bilbo was afraid of the possible reaction of the other dwarven clans, should they learn about Thorin’s fate. The Iron Hills were not that far away from Mirkwood and there ruled one of Thorin’s cousin, Dáin Ironfoot. The hobbit kept repeating to himself he wasn’t carrying out an act of treason in order to help his new friends, but was trying to avoid a war between dwarves and elves.

The more he thought about it, the surer Bilbo became the Forest River was the safer way out. Safer? No, it was very dangerous. His plan was to seal the dwarves inside empty barrels and throw them into the deep waters. Luckily the flow would carry them to Esgaroth alive and undamaged. But if Bilbo wasn’t careful, they could easily drown or suffocate. He wasn’t sure he would survive the remorse but he imagined his dwarves would rather try than wait for the end in Thranduil’s kingdom.

 

While Bilbo was occupied with his escape plans, Thorin spent his time thinking about him. He felt comforted in having something physical and tangible of the ghost that visited him at night, but the bracelet didn’t help him to solve his mystery and left him clueless as before.  
From the voice only Thorin deduced very few things.  
First, it belonged to a young male; he could be maybe around one hundred and fifty years old, give or take a couple of decades.  
Second, he had magical powers, or at least the one of turning invisible. He knew the Istari were skillful wizards, but couldn’t imagine Tharkûn or the others being able to do that, or willing to.  
Thorin excluded his good spirit belonged to the elven race, but he clearly was a friend of them. He defended Thranduil with too much ardor to be a simple intruder and owned an elven made gold bracelet with his name on it. As blacksmith and dwarf, Thorin figured out that was not a jewel any elf could possess. Its lines were simple and not adorned with gems, but it was of the purest gold and the tengwar were so neat they seemed painted on its surface. Therefore it must have been crafted for someone held in great consideration among the elven folk. The thought was like poison to Thorin’s mood.

The dwarf felt sad also because he didn’t have anything to repay the wonderful gift. At the moment his only belongings were the clothes he had on. To tell the truth, he still had his silver beads, but the closest members of his family lost in Erebor had made them for him and gratitude only goes so far.  
Even if their protector would find a way out for them, he had no idea on how track him down later to reward him properly. He had to look for someone able to read the inscription on the bracelet to get the name, at least. But the name was useless too, because he couldn’t ask for its bearer to any elf: it would mean to confess a crime against the elven king’s law, and Thorin didn’t wish anybody to be on the receiving end of Thranduil’s fury, least of all his friend.

 

Bilbo paid a visit to Thorin to inform him about his project and get his authorization to proceed further. As he imagined, Thorin agreed to attempt the escape. Now Bilbo had to figure out how to steal the keys to the dwarves’ cells. Between the prison and the trapdoor’s room there were the cellars. They were often occupied by Galion, the butler, and by the chief of the guards, keeper of the keys. Of course Bilbo didn’t want to hurt them.

The hobbit spent days thinking up a way to get rid of the guards. Each passing day he was more and more exhausted. He was sure to wear the marks of his treason plainly on his face and around his eyes and started to wonder why nobody spoke against him yet. Did he really fooled everyone with his Ring?

Anyway, that double life couldn’t last much longer, Bilbo decided when Vinca noticed his lack of sleep. She softly raised his chin and looked into his eyes, then said: “Young hobbits need their sleep or else they’ll turn into barrow-wights. You seem halfway there”. Bilbo bit his lips to keep from saying he already had the habits and the reputation of a wight and the only missing aspect was a clean death with Thranduil throttling him. Worried about Vinca’s words, Bilbo’s brain started to work at a faster pace and when he heard news of the next celebration he came up with a plan.

At night the hobbit quickly met each dwarf and suggested to be prepared for the evening of the party, when patrols would have been more relaxed. He avoided explaining the details of the escape because he didn’t want his friends to fret about being closed in a barrel or to raise an unnecessary buzz.

The evening of the feast Bilbo dressed up with green velvet breeches, a white shirt and a red waistcoat with acorn-shaped buttons, put the Ring in his pocket and headed to the cellars, where he had already arranged a small barrel of fine wine. He recovered the barrel and made for the room usually occupied by the guards. The two elves were there, as expected, and greeted Bilbo warmly. The hobbit placed the barrel on the table and said, excited:

“A small gift for you. Tonight everyone must celebrate and be merry because the stars are in blossom and the moon is in flower. This is a lovely vintage from Dorwinion, I’m sure you’ll appreciate it. So, where are your flagons now?”.

Galion and the chief of the guards were more than happy to receive a whole cask of wine and watched eagerly as Bilbo filled their jugs. Then he handed them in to the elves and cried out:

“Alright! I want to hear a nice toast to Eärendil now! Up the jugs and down the wine!”.

Galion raised his flagon but suddenly stopped. Bilbo felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Won’t you join us, Bilbo? You brought the wine after all”.

Bilbo shook a finger in front of himself, quite vehemently, in order to hide the real shaking of his body. Useless to point out that the wine was heavily drugged.

“No. That one’s yours, Galion, and don’t pretend you’d be glad to share. Don’t worry, I’ll be drunk in the upper halls in a few hours. If you need me, you’ll find me under my bench, as always”, the hobbit added giggling.

Reassured, the elves raised their jugs again and yelled with one voice “Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!”, before gulping down the content in one go. Bilbo nodded satisfied, patted the arm of the chief of the guards, to have a better look at the keys and left the elves to their little party. Then he put the Ring on and waited, praying all the Valar for his plan to work smoothly. He was more and more aware he could easily kill someone that night, elf or dwarf, and he started to feel the pressure. After half a hour of cheering the elves were snoring noisily with their faces on the table and their hand still around the handle of the jug. Bilbo went back in and stole the key chain, apologizing silently. Then he grabbed a lantern and set out for the prison.

The hobbit freed Balin first who seemed to him the most reliable. He asked the dwarf to guard the corridor to the cellars and the sleeping elves, paying special attention that they were breathing.

One by one, Bilbo released the other dwarves too and soon he assisted to many hugs and head butts and kisses. When he opened Kíli’s door, Fíli threw himself in and on his brother, nearly crushing the hobbit in the process, kissing him with so much passion that Bilbo thought they were going to hurt themselves.

Bilbo coughed to draw the dwarves’ attention, then spoke:

“We are heading to the cellars now, where Balin is waiting for us. But remember what I already told you: if any of you makes a move to grab me, I will shout and there will be no one else to get you out the next time”.

Thorin glared each dwarf with his piercing blue eyes and answered with unquestionable tone: “Nobody of us will try. Lead the way, Master Burglar”.

It was really confusing to follow a lantern, Thorin thought, but now he had a better idea of the shape of their good spirit: he was less tall than them. Thorin knew only hobbits were shorter than dwarves, but hobbits definitely cannot turn invisible and the chances of a wizard hobbit living among the elves were close to zero. Annoyed, he resigned himself to leave Mirkwood with that mystery unresolved.

When the group reached the trapdoor’s room, Bilbo explained the plan and asked the dwarves to get into the barrels, so he could close them. Suddenly twelve disappointed voices filled the air with objections:

“I’m too fat to fit in one of those barrels”.

“We’ll surely drown!”.

“The wild river will be our last ride”.

“Didn’t I tell you I have a wife and a son, lad?!”.

“How we’re supposed to open them once we’re in Lake-town?”.

“I won’t enter in a barrel without Fíli, find us a bigger one”.

Thorin stepped in, hushing up the other dwarves:

“Is this your gratitude? Our friend risked a lot to get us out of this accursed place and you won’t waste his kindness with yours complaints. Enter in the barrels now or I’ll beg him to bring you back to your cells and let you think in solitude of a better plan”.

Despite his words, Thorin seized Kíli’s ear, while the young dwarf was still clinging to his brother’s waist, pushed him in a barrel by force and afterwards he closed the lid himself. Bilbo had to smile.

The dwarves were still bothered, but they started to choose a suitable barrel, get in and find a comfortable position. Bilbo and Thorin finished sealing the lids, then Thorin entered the last one. Before Bilbo could shut him in, he asked:

“Will you be fine? Will they go up to you for our disappearance? You are most welcome to come with us. Please”.

Oh. The invite was totally unexpected. But no. The hobbit could not accept.

“No, Thorin. This is my place, my home, here lives my family. I will be fine; nobody will accuse me of your escape. And if they do I’m sure I’ll get away with it easily”.

Thorin seemed unconvinced but replied:

“So be it. Thank you for everything you have done for us. Farewell, my Burglar, may we meet again under happier stars”.

Bilbo nodded, unsure about how his voice would have sounded and forgetting Thorin couldn’t see him. He closed the lid and worked on the levers to open the trapdoor and the portcullis. Then he cast the barrels in the deep waters and observed them floating away with the stream.

Bilbo considered he had broken enough rules for one day, so he decided to actually joint the feast in the upper halls, even if he didn’t feel like partying. Luckily he found out a sad hobbit wasn’t a lesser drinker than a happy one and in a couple of hours he was lying flat under a bench as promised. Before passing out, he had the time to wonder why he was so sad, when his friends were, hopefully, drifting to Esgaroth.


	10. Your Place in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is not pleased and makes wrong decisions.

Bilbo’s next days unfolded quietly. He heard, of course, news of the impressive escape of the dwarves, disappeared into thin air. Everyone was puzzled and the hobbit hoped Thranduil groped in the dark too. Bilbo was quite satisfied of his criminal mind and secretly started to refer to himself as “Burglar”, when he was summoned to Thranduil’s quarters. That was quite unusual: or Thranduil didn’t mean to speak about dwarves or he wished to spare Bilbo from being accused publicly in the throne room.

Bilbo knocked on the huge wooden door that separated him from the elven King, his heart throbbing in his chest like a drum. When he entered, he found Thranduil sitting at his table, deep in thought. He was calm, but generally elves were not known for their outbursts of rage. It wasn’t a good sign that the King didn’t beckon Bilbo to sit with him.  
And then, as if he was commenting about the weather, Thranduil said:

“You freed the dwarves”.

Bilbo stuttered: “D-dwarves?”. It wasn’t his intention to deny anything but the simplicity of the statement caught him unaware.

“Yes, Bilbo. Thirteen dwarves that were my prisoners until you released them”.

Bilbo had never been so embarrassed in his whole life. His demeanor had already given him away, the stuttering, the shaking, the low gaze. The hobbit quickly planned his defense: he knew that lying to Thranduil was useless. He’d better admit his faults and trust in a light punishment.

“So, do we agree? It was you”, the elf insisted.

“Yes, my King. I am sorry”, Bilbo answered submissively, but with a firm tone and a straight back.

“Are you, now? Don’t lie to me anymore, Bilbo. I’m not sure you realize the consequences of your actions”.

“Honestly, I do not. Those dwarves didn’t deserve to be imprisoned. They lost their path in the forest and they were hungry. They did not attack elf nor beast nor tree”.  
Bilbo knew Thranduil would never leave him in doubt or deny answers to his questions; he could open his heart to him, no matter how furious the elf was.

“These reasons are not good enough to consider them harmless. You do not know dwarves, Bilbo. They are a vile race, devoted to gold only…”.

“This is not true!”. Bilbo’s hand jumped to his mouth but those words were already out. He looked around hoping it had been someone else to utter them. Well, since Thranduil remained silent he had to try and justify himself.

“I talked with them and most of all they were concerned about their family. You even got them separated in those cells”.

The elven King nodded: “So you now believe I am the cruel one. This is a game Thorin Oakenshield has always played. He is good in selling his lies to inexperienced ears”.

“Thorin is... He is… We spoke about Erebor too”.

Thranduil understood the hobbit’s confusion. He didn’t want his Bilbo to be deceived by those dwarves. It was easy to get hold of his hobbit’s kind heart; too easy to fill his mind with lies from behind bars, pretending to be oppressed by the rightful masters of the forest. He was ready to relive the day Erebor fell if it would show his child where the truth laid.  
“Do you need to ask me something about it, Bilbo?”.

There was tension in the air: Bilbo felt this was a sacred moment, that time of life that held the possibility of getting the answers Thorin had always longed for:  
“You were there and did nothing. Why?”.

“We were not strong enough to deal with Smaug the Magnificent inside the mountain”.

“But you didn’t help the survivors either”.

“Nobody asked for it. The Iron Hills were favored to Mirkwood, and in fact Thorin sent for his cousin Náin, when he understood the elves wouldn’t have fought the dragon for him”.

“Are you telling me that you didn’t assist the dwarves because nobody of them came to you begging for help?”, Bilbo cried, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, Bilbo. I am telling you that I was there: Thorin didn’t want the help of elves, he and his generals wanted my army to try and retake their lost mountain. He can assert otherwise now, but back then it was the only thing that occupied and poisoned his mind”.

Thranduil paused for some moments to let his words sink in, then continued.

“Had I known the folk of Erebor required help I would have done anything in my power for them. But I felt our presence was unnecessary and unwelcome, so I removed our ranks. Had Thorin been less proud and blind, many more lives would have been spared that day”.

Bilbo started to play with the buttons of his waistcoat. He truly didn’t know whom to believe, both versions were plausible and very likely it had been a huge and costly misunderstanding. The hobbit decide to let that conversation drop and focus on his other question.  
“I guess it’s not easy to remain cool-headed when you have lost home and family. But Erebor fell more than one century ago. Why picking on Thorin’s Company now? They didn’t break any of your rules”.

“It is not for you to question my judgment. I had to know the reason of their travel”.

If Bilbo ever had any chance to escape the conversation unscathed, he knew now he was about to throwing it away: “I beg your pardon, my King, but I believe it is not for you to know their reason”.

The elf King began to lose his patience, the hobbit had grown terribly defiant in the last weeks. But still he answered.  
“It is my duty to protect my people and prevent deranged creatures from roaming freely through Middle-Earth”.

“This is your mistake, Thranduil. You consider dwarves lesser beings, unable of a civil behavior, but you have no right to imprison them as if they were beasts only to justify your fears of a time past”.

“Fears of a time past… Do you know why the dwarves were passing through Mirkwood?”

“I do”.

“Tell me”.

“Thorin didn’t want you to learn about his business. I cannot betray his confidence so lightly”.

Bilbo was well aware that a member of another race, a man, a dwarf or even a different elf would have slapped him in the face by now. Thranduil did nothing but tearing him apart with his cold eyes and it was much more painful. How could eyes of the same color as Thorin’s arouse such negative emotions? The elf still waited. Bilbo’s energies were fading and he was tired of arguing with Thranduil. His friends were far away from Mirkwood now, distant from the elves’ reach; Thorin’s pride wouldn’t suffer the blow and hopefully his talking would serve the dwarves’ cause more than his silence.

“They were heading to Esgaroth. There are too many dwarves in Ered Luin to pass the winter without losses. The mines are not working efficiently and they need others sources of income. Therefore some companies left the Mountains to reduce the number of the population and find a job to support further their families at home”.

After allowing a brief flash of satisfaction to cross his face, Thranduil replied bitterly:  
“How could you be so naïve? They were heading to Erebor, to slay the dragon and reclaim their homeland. They will wake-up the sleeping wyrm. Such a quest would bring only trouble and pain to them and to all those people that live in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain, including us”.

Bilbo’s first instinct was of laughing, but when he spoke he couldn’t leave some uncertainty out of his voice.  
“They would not. They are only thirteen; nobody can be so reckless. Nobody can hope to defeat a dragon when armies have failed”.

The elven King let the seed of doubt grow in the hobbit.

“He would have not brought his nephews, he would have not brought a scribe and a toymaker. He would have brought warriors!”, Bilbo nearly cried, shaking his hands in the air to prove his point.

“The last desperate attempt of a dying ember. Thorin would risk everything, including his own life and those of his kin to win Erebor and its treasures back. It’s better for him to die as King Under the Mountain, fighting against the greatest horror of our time, than end his days as a petty lord of a hole in the ground”.

Hearing Thranduil speaking so low about the dwarf, Bilbo was finally able to take one side. He remembered how Thorin had reacted when he let him know he had found out about his line. He seemed more embarrassed of his title rather than interested in it and Bilbo didn’t want to believe Thorin had only been uncomfortable for having to show himself without adorning jewels and a regal attire. He told as much to the King. Thranduil was utterly disappointed.

“It hurts me to learn that a couple of weeks of whispers in the night are worthier than fifty years among my people, after all that I have done for you”.

“You have my gratitude but you cannot force me to think like you”.

“It seems I made many mistakes with you, Bilbo. It is time for you to take your place in the world and accept your responsibilities”.

The elven King rose from his chair, making the hobbit feel small for the first time, and spoke as he was pronouncing a verdict:

“I will announce a tournament tomorrow, in which every lord of noble birth will be allowed to compete. The winner will gain an everlasting alliance with my kingdom and have your hand in marriage”.

It took Bilbo some moments to fully understand Thranduil’s words, then he exploded with rage, scaring mainly himself.  
“What? No. NO! I will not marry someone just because he won a stupid tournament. I refuse”.

“Maybe a strong husband will provide the discipline I failed to teach you. Did you think my love for you would have let you go through your treason easily? It’s time for you to grow up and face the consequences of breaking my laws”.

Bilbo threw harmless daggers with his eyes. He knew there was nothing he could say to change the King’s decision and he preferred to storm out of the room before worsening his already hopeless position.


	11. Not Only for a Tournament

As promised, the day after that confrontation King Thranduil proclaimed the tournament and beckoned all the potential contenders to his halls.

Bilbo received the news from Vinca, since he didn’t bother to go out of his room. If he was to be a prisoner and a gift to some champion he wished to play the part well, to show his disappointment in a respectable and hobbity way. Actually, he spent hours consuming the floor with his feet and cursing Thranduil’s barbaric idea.

After a couple of weeks Bilbo received a visit from Legolas. At first the hobbit tried to turn him away, asking him to come back only when his father expected him to leave. But when he understood the elf was genuinely worried about his well-being he invited him for a cup of tea.

Legolas had never seen his hobbit so nervous and let him express all his frustration while he was sipping his tea. When Bilbo had run out of complaints and sat on his chair as the most miserable creature in the world, he stepped in to clarify Thranduil’s purpose.

“I won’t tell you the King is not angry with you for going against his wishes, Bilbo, but never my father acts driven by hate, and most certainly he doesn't hate you. He truly believes the tournament is the best choice for your future, not a punishment. You gave credit to a bunch of strangers, of prisoners, of dwarves, with no hesitation. You broke laws for them. Maybe you are not happy here as we thought you were. We live differently from mortals and it could be that your needs eluded us. Thranduil's goal is to find someone who shares your same interests and ambitions and can take better care of you than us. Not anyone, but someone with noble blood who can prove his worth on the field of battle. He won’t let you go for less than a great leader, a prince or a king, Bilbo. You have nothing to lose in this deal, mellon nín”.

“I have everything to lose, Legolas, can't you see it? I will lose my home, my friends and my freedom. And I am happy here, I really am. Thranduil is sending me away in chains because for once I didn't agree with him”.

“It pains me to learn that this decision makes you suffer. However you won't be a slave but a consort, a husband, someone to look at and to take inspiration from. You spent all of your life here, wouldn't you like to leave your books and enjoy the real world?”.

“I think not; not under these conditions. I'm a hobbit, remember? I don't like adventures and I don't like the real world; I don't even like tournaments and warfare. Thranduil's idea is insane”.

Legolas appeared really downhearted and Bilbo used the occasion. He grabbed the elf's hand and pleaded:

“Legolas, my dearest friend, you could talk to the King and beg him in my name to reconsider this folly. He will surely listen to you. Just play the tournament for your own amusement. I'd prefer any other punishment. I'd do anything; I'll never smoke pipe-weed again if I'm told so”.

Legolas gave the hobbit a bitter smile and squeezed his hand with affection:  
“You know well I cannot do it: my father will listen and then quickly forget my words”.

Bilbo rested his head on his arms with a strangled sob, defeated, still holding Legolas' hand. The elf bit his lower lip and then added:   
“But if you allow it I can do something else for you, perian nín, to permit you to stay in Mirkwood...”.

Bilbo looked up, his eyes shining with hope.

“...I could enter the tournament myself”.

 

The next evening Bilbo was expected to join a feast in the upper halls to meet the contenders. He chose to wait a disrespectful amount of time before showing up, remaining in his room as long as he could without the risk of being carried to the party by force.

When he couldn’t wait any longer, Bilbo walked through the corridors and stopped in the shadow of the great arch forming the door of the main hall. He wished to have a look at the people gathered there before entering the arena. A huge table was set in the middle of the room, covered in so much delicious food it made the hobbit’s mouth water. Thranduil was sitting alone at the royal dais, an empty place at his side; Bilbo understood it was reserved for him but he was in no hurry to occupy it. After all, the dais was near enough to the table to allow the elven King to listen to the conversations running among his guests. Letting his gaze shift to the table, he noticed Legolas sitting at its very end, as far as possible from his father. A wave of guilt hit Bilbo but, exactly like a wave, it came and go: while he didn’t wish for a conflict between the two elves because of him, he didn’t ask for this farce in the first place.

Legolas was ignoring most of the guests, whispering to an elf at his side. Bilbo had met him a couple of times: he was Rúmil of Caras Galadhon, a Marchwarden, and was known for being a better archer than Legolas. The hobbit would have loved to go to fair Lothlórien and while he held Rúmil in high regard, he was no great king or leader. Apparently, Thranduil had bent his own rules to let his closest friends take part in the tournament. Bilbo wondered how it would be to have a champion of his own choice, but the only person who occurred to him was not welcome there and had more serious business to think of.

The hobbit observed the rest of the contenders. Most of them were men, and Bilbo thought it wasn’t unwise, because at least they shared the same lifespan. He was disappointed no one of his race had come, but then he realized it was silly to expect hobbits to make such a long journey to fight against elves and men.

Bilbo tried to focus on the conversations. Some men were appreciating the King’s wine and he could swear two of them were already drunk. Others were talking about their weapons of choice and boasting about how good they were in wielding them. Bilbo did make an effort, but in the end couldn’t really understand where the merit was.

He was about to enter the room when a man rose from his chair and spoke, throwing glances around him as if he was speaking for his companions too:

“King Thranduil, son of Oropher, no one else would have received us with such magnificence. Your wine is the reddest I have ever tasted, your food is exquisite and the majesty of your halls is worthy of a song”.  
Bilbo couldn’t but agree, he just hoped the man would not actually start to sing.  
“We have been beautifully repaid for the long days spent on the road and we are eager to begin the competition. However, we are not here only for a tournament, but also for a mate. We have not met the hobbit yet”.

As a choir of approval rose from the group, Bilbo felt like his internal body parts had switched their places.

“Adrahil is right, o King”.

“Where is Bilbo Baggins?”.

“Show us the hobbit!”.

The man called Adrahil grinned and added:

“Maybe the hobbit is scared; is he afraid of being unattractive?”

Bilbo, angered, stepped into the room.

“No, Adrahil of Dol Amroth. I am afraid of your words and your unquestionable rudeness”.

He cast a disgusted look to the people that now were listening to him in silence.

“To tell the truth, I find all of you lacking in good manners. I did notice you did not use the cutlery at your disposal, and while I’m the first to find King Thranduil’s food compelling, your behavior is inexcusable. In addition, I don’t give a damn about who is better here in throwing spears from horseback or can wield two two-hand axes. Now tell me, my lords, how does it feel to be under examination? I am not an object nor a prize; I am a respectable hobbit and will be treated as such”.

Satisfied with the stunned expression his speech painted on the contenders’ faces, Bilbo whispered in Sindarin that he wasn’t referring to Legolas or Rúmil, that answered politely with a nod.  
Then the hobbit walked straight to the King and for once he seemed tall as any elf. Ho spoke directly to Thranduil but again his words were meant for everybody to hear.

“So, my King, is it really your wish that I marry one of those beasts?”.

He ignored the giggles coming from behind his shoulders and remained focused on the stern elf in front of him.

“You know very well why you are in this situation, Bilbo. Blame your dwarf friends for it”.

Having received his answer, though a hurtful one, Bilbo turned with a last glare, but Thranduil called him back.

“I do not recall I have given you my permission to leave”.

Bilbo considered for a moment the idea of staying, then made for the door. Maybe he was not respectable as he always thought to be, but that day he could not care less. When he passed by the table, his upper arm was seized by a strong hand; it was of course attached to the rest of Adrahil.

“Your King ordered you to stay, little one”, he said as if he was scolding a child.

The hobbit had had enough and was deadly tired of propriety, so he kicked the man’s shin with his large feet. The kick had the right strength to make Adrahil loosen his grip and Bilbo continued for his way. Luckily nobody else made any move to stop him. He hated violence, after all.  
Bilbo had nearly reached the great arch when he changed his mind: he turned defiantly, ran to the table and grabbed a cupcake from a plate. Then he stormed out of the party hall.


	12. The Hobbit's Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bye bye, Mirkwood... Or?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter, too short.  
> But Bilbo and Thorin in the next one, so I guess it's ok.

Bilbo entered Vinca’s room still chewing his stolen cupcake. It was his only dinner after all, unless he decided to sneak in the kitchen later that night. He swallowed the last morsel and cried, “I won’t stay here one minute longer! He wants me to leave? I will leave, but on my own”.

Vinca answered with a soft voice, unimpressed: “And where would you want to go, sweetheart?”.

Undoubtedly she had a point. “Elsewhere”, Bilbo said, pouting.

Vinca chuckled. “That’s a start, but elsewhere is incredibly vast. You’ll be lost before even getting there”.

Bilbo mumbled in annoyance. “To Lothlórien then, and Imladris later. If I’m lucky I could even reach the Shire and Long Cleave”.

The nurse nodded: “and are you totally sure that those you are going to seek for shelter won’t bring you back here, dragging you by your ear?”.

Bilbo’s hands ran to massage his ears, as if they were already aching; “No, I am not”.

Vinca continued: “You need a better plan, my dear one, if you want to succeed. You won’t reach Imladris, the crossing of the Misty Mountains is not a doable task for a hobbit alone. Concerning Lothlórien, I take you met that nice lad from Caras Galdhon at dinner. However, yes, Galadriel and Celeborn are you best option if you need a change of air for a while”.

Bilbo’s heart sank. His nurse hadn’t the situation clear.  
“I am not coming back”, he whispered with pain, awareness falling down on him all at once.

Vinca raised from her chair, comprehension painted on her face, grabbed Bilbo by his shoulders and said:

“My dear Bilbo, a wise man once sang ‘everywhere is just a journey away’, no matter how unexpected, and every dream too”.

Then she kissed his curly hair.

Bilbo asked: “Is this why you came here to me?”

Vinca answered: “More or less; there is always a gain for every loss, Bilbo. Go now, while they are all still in the dining room, throwing challenges to each other about who’ll get drunk first”.

Bilbo hugged his nurse fiercely, ran to his own room and retrieved his Ring. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to leave unnoticed. Secondly, he prepared a small parcel of food and he was proud of himself for not nicking anything from it, tempted as he was.

He was sorry to leave without saying goodbye to Legolas, but he had no other choice. He could only treasure the memories of the time spent with his friend in the blooming gardens, now deserted, of the elven halls.

The hobbit wore the Ring and disappeared into darkness.

 

When he was far away enough from the main gate, Bilbo changed his direction. He wasn’t planning to go to Lothlórien yet. It felt too risky. Thranduil would have guessed he was looking for the only friends he had or for other members of his race, and this meant West.

Venturing East was a safer and way more unpredictable trip.

And if Thranduil would question Vinca, she would unknowingly send him in the wrong way; the elven King would never blame her for it, hopefully.

The hobbit followed the path marked by the Forest River. The sound of the stream muffled the noise of his stride, so he didn’t need to pay much attention to it and could enjoy the walk. After weeks of seclusion he could cherish the moment, when the wild was calling and wishes were whispering without a meaning. But his eyes unconsciously kept on returning to the running waters and the bank, looking for signs of wood or curved metal.

Bilbo’s mind caught up with his eyes when he approached the end of Mirkwood and directed his glance to where the human city of Esgaroth should lay. If his plan worked, the dwarves were there. It would be lovely to see them free and safe but, no, he would never talk to them. He could not.

The hobbit pictured himself many scenarios, in which he went straight to the Company and shouted out

“it’s me! The one who got you free from the elven King’s grasp!”.

In the best one he received a fierce hug from Thorin among the cheering of the other dwarves. Bilbo lingered in dreaming the dwarf’s strong arms around him, his long dark hair tickling his cheeks and the coldness of his silver beads against his neck; he imagined the warmth radiating from that body and the low vibrations of his voice, whispering his consent for him to stay and live with them; his desire for a home away from care stronger than ever.

But then Bilbo’s daydreams turned into nightmares, in which Thorin glared down on him and informed him his nephews had died in the barrels. No, he definitely would not approach the dwarves. He would be content to watch them from afar.

Anyway, Bilbo started to feel quite safe when he finally left Mirkwood behind, and removed the Ring. The hobbit was still surrounded by tall and dense trees, but they seemed healthier and greener, with ripe fruits dangling from their branches.

Bilbo continued on his way until dusk, only stopping to have small snacks with bread, cheese and honey. He wished to travel another hour at least before camping for the night, but soon darkness engulfed him. 

The hobbit was starting to feel lonely and cold, and the trees suddenly seemed menacing; the wild was calling no more and his wishes were hollow. He missed the lovely laughter of elves and the soft light that always radiated from them. When he heard strange noises among the trees, he started to sing an old walking song in order to combat his fear and not end up weeping in an empty night:

“O! Wanderers in the shadowed land  
Despair not! For though dark they stand,  
All woods there be must end at…” 

He called himself stupid and unwise when even more darkness got hold of him, because due to his singing he didn’t hear the approaching steps or the grunt of satisfaction of the huge creature that captured him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "wise man" does actually exist. His name is Tuomas Holopainen and he's the leader of my favourite band, Nightwish.  
> This chapter is heavily inspired (read plagiarized) by his song "Away". Go on YouTube and listen to it!


	13. Not in a Bag Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves meet a visible hobbit. Things happen.

Bombur was stirring the soup with a large spoon and observing the rabbit meat twirling and emerging in the liquid, when he heard a curious yell.

He turned to his cousin with an interrogative look. Bifur replied to that silent question with a whisper and gestured towards Nori, who was already sneaking toward the source of the now continuous screams.

Bombur looked at Thorin, who was quietly giving instructions to the dwarves around him. With a last sad glance to the soup he dropped the spoon and picked up an axe.

\----------

Bilbo felt nauseous. He was restlessly swinging from one side to the other and couldn’t find a comfortable position. He was not touching the ground but was suspended in the air, held by something over his head.

Surrounded by hemp, he couldn’t but whine ‘not in a bag again!’.

He shouted for help, in Sindarin and in Westron, but wasn’t really expecting elves or men to come and rescue him.

When he heard voices from the outside he shut up and listened. There were three beings at least, clearly bigger than him, considering the rumble that reached him when one of them spoke. Much to Bilbo discomfort, they were talking about dinner, and he was smart enough to understand that he was supposed to be the main course.

He planned about using the Ring, considering carefully when the perfect moment to wear it would be; timing was the key, since he still was well trapped into the bag.

Then he heard noise of commotion: someone was fighting out there. He just hoped to be distant from the middle of the struggle and prayed not to be hit accidentally. New voices joined the three until only those remained. Since he could hear no more his captors speaking or shouting, he guessed the other party had won and allowed himself to rejoice a bit, wishing to have not climbed out of the frying-pan just to fall into the fire.

Then someone was cutting the rope closing the hemp bag and a tiny ray of light found his way inside. When the fabric fell open, Bilbo’s hand run to his mouth, to suffocate a gasp. Nori? The dwarf called for help and was swiftly joined by Bofur. The dwarf smiled and freed the hobbit from his prison, while saying loudly for the rest of the Company:

“It’s just a scared young hobbit. Hey, lad, is everything fine?”

Bilbo didn’t answer and let his eyes wander from one dwarf to another. He was relieved to see that they were all alive and unscathed, from both the barrel ride and the fight with… Three trolls? He thanked silently all the Valar for that stupid hemp bag, because he found difficult to bear the sight of the three dead trolls; he would have died of terror had he faced them alive. Dwarves were a fierce race, indeed.

“What is your name? Are you hurt?”, insisted Bofur.

“Why are you so far away from the Shire and all alone?”, joined Ori.

It was Fíli who replied to the young dwarf, too much serious for Bilbo’s taste: “obviously the trolls ate all the other hobbits and left this one for dessert”.

Bilbo shook his head vehemently.

“Can you talk, Halfling?”.

Thorin joined his companions in questioning the hobbit, and it took Bilbo a lot of strength to keep a squeak behind his lips. Thorin’s tone was firm but not unkind. Bilbo just shrugged and tried to ignore him at the best of his abilities.

Bombur made his way through his friends pushing them away from the shoulders and exclaimed:

“The hobbit is surely hungry! There’s time for questions after we all have dinner. We left a delicious rabbit soup on the fire not far from here. Come have some”.

The spark in Bilbo’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed by the dwarves. Kíli put his arm under Bilbo’s and half carried him to the dwarven camp. The hobbit followed quietly, throwing shy smiles to those who met his eyes. He accepted with a small nod the first bowl of hot soup and had to restrain himself not to meow in delight when he put the spoon in his mouth.

He was so absorbed in emptying his bowl that Dwalin’s voice caught him unaware: “We heard you scream, lad. We know you can talk. Why would you not speak to us? You have nothing to fear. We are no help if we don’t know who you are”.

Seeing the panicked expression on Bilbo’s face, Thorin raised his eyes and quieted his friend just whispering his name and shaking his head.

The dwarves tried again to make Bilbo talk that evening, with honest questions and with tricks, especially Fíli and Kíli, but all they managed to get were gestures. The two brothers begged Bifur to try with some bastard iglishmêk, but when Bilbo abandoned his mask of politeness for a puzzled look the dwarf gave up.

 

Bilbo remained four days with the dwarves. They were kind to him and didn’t seem to mind his intrusion in the group nor his obstinate refusal to speak. He tried to earn his welcome helping with the meals and everybody seemed contented enough with the result.

During the evening of the fourth day Kíli heard someone approaching. The hobbit was glad to notice some of the dwarves had placed themselves around him, discretely shielding him from what was coming.

Nor him nor Thorin’s Company expected the figure that appeared among the trees.

“Mithrandir?”, Bilbo thought, and hid behind Bombur like a frightened kitten.

“Gandalf!”, exclaimed Thorin welcoming the grey wizard.

“Thorin Oakenshield” the man replied politely. Then he quickly cast a glance in Bilbo’s direction.

Bilbo felt utterly disappointed: how could he be so visible behind a huge dwarf as Bombur? Would Mithrandir sense his presence so quickly even if he wore the Ring? In the last weeks the hobbit had grown accustomed to being invisible, the sense of security deriving from it appeasing like a mouthful of chocolate.

“I did expect to find you in Lake-Town; you are tarrying in these woods instead”.

Yes, the wizard had a habit of making questions through affirmations, but it was something Bilbo was dying to know too, so he turned to Thorin waiting for his answer. The leader of the Company threw a glance towards his dwarves and said: “We have been delayed”. Unfortunately, Bilbo from his angle could not understand what had happened or who was to fault for the wasted time.

Mithrandir seemed satisfied though, and let the topic drop. His gaze was openly fixed on Bilbo now, that was praying the Valar he wouldn’t call him by his name or point out his relation to the King of the wooden realm.

But the Istar continued to address Thorin.

“I see you made a new friend. How came a hobbit in your Company, Thorin?”.

“We rescued him from three trolls, four days ago. They were surely going to have him cooked, seasoned and eaten; but enough on the halfling. What business brings you here?”.

Gandalf straightened up, forcing many dwarves to bend their neck, since he was much taller than them, and announced:

“I come with important news, Thorin Oakenshield. King Thranduil beckons all the lords of Middle Earth to his halls for a competition of prowess and skill. The prize for the winner is an everlasting alliance between their two folks and the hand of his hobbit to seal it. I suggest you to consider carefully the possibility of attending”.

Many clashing voices rose from the group of dwarves, each one yelling a different point of view on the matter.

“We cannot go back to Mirkwood, we just escaped from there!”

“You are a fool, wizard, if you think we’ll let Thorin risk his life in elvish territory”.

“I bet my beard the elf will stop us at the gates!”

“Uncle marrying a hobbit?!”

“That wouldn’t be so bad, though, hobbits are excellent cooks”.

While the dwarves were occupied in screaming their opinion and were near to coming to hands, Bilbo was playing with the Ring in his pocket and pretending to be a tree with little success, ready to disappear for good any moment.

Why did Mithrandir decide to put him in this embarrassing situation? He talked about him like he wasn’t there at all. Bilbo mentally complained about the old man not asking for his permission to invite Thorin to Mirkwood, forgetting he had wished to be left alone just minutes before.

In the meanwhile Thorin was experimenting conflicting feelings: it seemed totally absurd and masochistic but he felt attracted to the idea of going back. If he had free access to Thranduil’s halls he could search for his burglar, the one who helped them in their dire need, even if he had no clue on what to look for. Hopefully his friend would come and find him first, and they would talk again at night or maybe in the light of day.

And if he was allowed to compete he had a fair chance of winning. He would be stuck with a hobbit for his entire life, but he knew they hardly were a hassle (he had a good example of a quiet hobbit in his Company at the moment after all) and were generally better than elves.

Besides, a victory would put an end to his people’s struggle for survival; they would need for nothing. And even if it stung Thorin’s pride having to accept a considerable help from that elf, the pain was soothed by the idea of Thranduil being bound to his old enemy.

Suddenly noticing that Nori was throttling Bifur and Fíli was screaming in Óin’s ear trumpet they were discussing about hobbits and not cobbles, Thorin shouted: “We will talk about this tomorrow”.  
Those words were final and he said nothing more on the topic for that evening.

 

The Company settled down for the night. Someone was already falling asleep while others was whispering some late words, waiting for Estë to grant them her gift.

Bilbo sat cross-legged beside the fire, enjoying the heat radiating from it, but he was always following Thorin’s behavior with the corner of his eyes. The dwarf seemed troubled. Was he really considering the idea of going back to Mirkwood?

Bilbo could not believe that after all the trouble he had gone through to free the thirteen dwarves, they would be so dumb to set foot in the elven kingdom again. And he would have to follow. It would take a lot of nerve to face Thranduil and say “well, I brought them back!”, but if they were ready to risk their freedom he could not leave them without the hobbit.

Maybe he should pick up his courage and talk to Thorin; persuade him to drop the tournament option and proceed with the original plan. But approaching Thorin required a ration of energy that his Took side was not providing.

So, the hobbit sat there, wondering why had he meddled with dwarves in the first place.

 

When the camp was finally quiet and most of the group asleep, Thorin rose from his spot and silently approached Gandalf, that was still smoking his pipe, shaping smoke figures in the air.

Bilbo could only observe the scene, for he was too far away to hear their low voices.  
The hobbit felt his heart taking a trip in his throat when he saw the dwarf pick an object from his wrist and raise it up for the wizard to examine.

“Tharkûn, if I may ask…”

The Istar nodded with an approving sound, the pipe still held in his mouth. He seemed annoyingly amused to Thorin, that on the contrary was tight as the string of a bow.

“Can you read the name engraved on this bracelet for me?”.

“Sure, my friend. It reads ‘Bilbo Baggins’, may I know how it got in your ownership?”.

From afar Bilbo admired Mithrandir’s ability to appear surprised and keep his focus of Thorin. He didn’t shoot a single glance to the hobbit.

“I got it as a gift from the one who saved us from the elvish prison. I still hope to find him and show my deep gratitude. I thank you, I fear I might have neglected my studies of that language”.

“Indeed”; replied Gandalf, a smile on his lips that Thorin didn’t like at all.

Thorin thanked the wizard with a bow, bid him a good night and left to lie down and think about what he had learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter I had ready and betaed. Must. Write. Faster. (Or better, I must write!)


	14. The Voice and the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin talk. Light Bagginshield.

Bilbo was petrified. After a while he realized he was trying to become invisible without the help of his Ring, just holding his breath and blanking out.

He had to made an effort to persuade himself that nothing important had happened. Ok, now Thorin knew his name or, better, the name of the one who helped him and his Company. But it was him who gave Thorin the bracelet in the first place, and he had secretly wished for the dwarf to decipher the tengwar. Why was he so nervous, then? Nothing connected him to the name, he just had to stop acting like he was in front of an empty pantry.

Therefore Bilbo started repeating in his mind: “Ok, that’s it! Deep breaths, chin up, you’re a respectable hobbit, stare back when someone… Oh”.  
Mithrandir was openly gazing upon him, making strange signals with his brows.

“Obviously he wants to speak with you, Bilbo”, the hobbit thought and, with a resigned sigh, made for Gandalf that was already moving away from the camp, not after having carefully checked that nobody was paying attention to him.

But, while the hobbit was stealthy as a ghost, the same thing could not be said for the wizard.

\----------

Thorin was unable to get any rest, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, when he heard the noise of someone walking away.

Tharkûn was quickly disappearing among the trees, discretely followed at a distance by the Halfling. Why would they need a secret meeting? Do they know each other? Will the hobbit speak to the wizard? Keeping an eye on the two figures, Thorin moved from his bedroll and tried to get within earshot without being detected.

What is he thinking? Crawling in the dark like a thief, to eavesdrop the private conversation of a member of his Company. Oh, well, not that the Halfling was actually a member of his Company. Anyway, it was his duty to make sure he was safe. Tharkûn was a friend, but he was a wizard too. It was never clear what dwelt in his mind.

And here he was, kneeling between a tree and a bush, trying to observe the scene without having an eye poked out by the thin branches.

Then Gandalf spoke, a note of mirth in his voice.

“Now, my dear hobbit, your presence here is an unexpected surprise indeed. But what are you playing at? We both know you own a sharp tongue, why so silent with your new friends?”.

Time stretched for Thorin, long moments in which he wondered if that question would receive an answer, while the halfling seemed ashamed and was shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“What was I supposed to do, Mithrandir? I didn’t know what their reaction would have been…”.

Thorin felt like struck by a thunder when he heard the hobbit speak.

“…the very same King that put them in a cell without reason…”.

No, more than one, with no doubt.

“…Totally unimagined to meet them here…”.

It cannot be! It’s him!

“...nonsense to go back now…”.

What? What is he saying?

Thorin was torn between remaining hidden in the bush or revealing himself. He was also having a hard time processing the information; and making room in his head for the new one. Especially for that! He had to keep on listening. Stop thinking and just listening. But he had missed his hobbit’s speech. Thorin’s brain simply couldn’t handle all of that in mere seconds and the last words he grasped were from Tharkûn:

“…them, sooner or later”.

With that, and with a gentle pat on Bilbo’s shoulder, Tharkûn left, leaving a bewildered hobbit behind.

Bilbo made no move to follow, but stayed there, deep in thought, his hands in his pockets.

It gave Thorin time to recollect his own thoughts and give a meaning to the scene he had just witnessed. So, his brave burglar was a hobbit, he would never have guessed. And by chance they had met this very hobbit on their way. Mahal was looking kindly upon him.

Anyway he couldn’t help but feel hurt. The hobbit, Bilbo, was so afraid of him he had avoided to be recognized, when all Thorin wished for was to express him his endless gratitude and affection.

Then it dawned on him. Tharkûn’s words. The tournament. And the marriage. Thorin guessed there were not many halflings among the elves; one still seemed too much. Apparently Thranduil’s decision didn’t sit well with Bilbo if he had left Mirkwood, when he refused his offer to follow his Company. Fury filled Thorin’s veins, fury and anger towards Thranduil. Is this the fate reserved to those under the protection of the elf king? Or was it a punishment for helping them?

He had to step forward and talk with Bilbo, but noticed with surprise it was not easy as he had imagined.

Wasn’t this a moment he had waited for for weeks? Wasn’t he hoping for such a good luck just hours before?

Thorin considered he would not be able to go back and pretend it didn’t happen. How could he bear to look into his savior’s eyes and remain silent? If the hobbit could, Thorin certainly could not. And he had a huge debt to repay. If both of them were honest, he would find a way to properly thank him. Reassured by his sense of duty, the dwarf left his hiding place.

“Bilbo…”, Thorin whispered. He took small steps towards the hobbit, worried of scaring him away, as if he was a frightened little bunny.

But Bilbo felt strangely at peace. So, Thorin knew. Never trust a meddling wizard. They’re good to enhance parties with fireworks but when you find them with their nose in your business, run for your life. The hobbit turned towards the dwarf and answered:

“Yes, that is my name”.

Bilbo was amused to see Thorin unable to start a conversation: he was opening and closing his mouth like a fish and, exactly like a fish, no sound escaped from his lips. 

“I see you figured that out”, the hobbit urged on with a hint of a smile.

“Gandalf…”, Thorin seemed a bit lost, overwhelmed by finally having a face associated to his Burglar’s voice.

“No, it’s Bilbo…”, Bilbo said, pointing to his chest with a finger, “…Hobbit”. Really, the situation was getting more and more awkward, but that seemed to shake Thorin from his torpor.

“No… Yes! Of course you are. I meant… Gandalf helped me. You already know I have no knowledge of that writing”.

“I’m glad he did. I just… I just hope you’re not… You’re not disappointed”, Bilbo said with big eyes.

“In truth, I am greatly disappointed”, was the sharp answer.

So, that was it! The worst reply ever. At least Thorin had been honest and hopefully he would just invite him to leave. Bilbo had to fight back tears. Maybe Thranduil was right: dwarves are cold as stone and his current sadness was real proof of it. He had been stupid to befriend them; blind for listening to Mithrandir and acknowledge his identity. After all, in which life would the great Thorin Oakenshield watch upon a halfling and feel anything but disgust?

“I believed we had shown you some kind of regard and attention; maybe not enough as we would have, had our meetings happened under different circumstances. I called you friend, yet you fear for your life when no bars separates us. Still you believe dwarves to be vicious beasts as those blasted elves taught you. You despise me so much you didn’t speak to me here, when one of my deepest wishes was to hear your voice again”.

Thorin’s words left Bilbo confused and a bit ashamed. Was the dwarf really hurt by the hobbit’s behavior? Could it be that Thorin felt betrayed and belittled? Did he truly believe Bilbo was moved by lack of respect towards dwarves? He tried to explain:

“Yes, I didn’t speak to you. I was afraid. I ran away from an unpleasant situation, I’ve never been so far from home and I’ve been nearly eaten by three trolls. What did you expect? That emerging from that bag I would have exclaimed “there you are! I see your journey went pretty well! What are we doing now?”. I was terrified by the idea you would have of me, because I am no warrior, hero, or magician. I’m just a hobbit”. Then he looked away, as if he had said something highly inappropriate.

Thorin blamed the elves. How did they treat this hobbit for years if he doubted his obvious valor? Those vain beings had hidden a treasure in their halls and they weren’t even aware of it. He had to right that wrong. If Bilbo had shown more self-confidence it would have been harder for Thorin to say what he said:

“Bilbo, you are the most brave and kind person I have known in my whole life. The world would be a better place with more hobbits like you around”.

“Oh, no. I’m not. Brave. I just... DruggedGalionandstolethekeys”, whispered the hobbit.

Thorin smiled, because that tone reminded him of the nice hours spent talking with Bilbo in the darkness of his cell, but had to ask him to repeat, for he didn’t hear the words.

“Drugged Galion and stole the keys! I lost every ounce of respectability I had!”, and with that he covered his face with his hands with no desire of emerging from behind them any time soon.

It was to comfort Bilbo that Thorin closed the distance between them and took the hobbit’s hands in his own, holding them tight. He found himself looking in those eyes shining like star sunstones just dug up from hard rock, but the feeling didn’t seem right; it lacked something. Therefore he enclosed his arms around the hobbit body and pulled him close in a hug, praying Bilbo would not be scared by such intimate act.

Surprisingly Bilbo didn’t pull back. Instead he reached for Thorin’s back with his hands and buried his nose in the soft fur of the dwarf’s coat. The two remained there for long moments.

When they separated Bilbo whispered a “thank you”, followed by a smile.

They both felt better after the hug and it was a great time for talking.

“Thanks to you, my Burglar, for what you’ve done for us. I will never be able to repay our debt, but should you need anything from us you only have to ask. I am forever at your service”, said Thorin with a small bow.

“Nothing I have done was for a reward. It felt right. Unwise and inappropriate, but right”.  
It wasn’t too polite to refuse a generous offer, but was much more inconsiderate to demand some kind of payment from people in need, because Thorin surely had in mind golden coins or jewels. To Bilbo they just meant an uncomfortable time pretending he appreciated the gift. Then he would just put them in a drawer and forget their existence.

“Yet you have been forced to fly from that accursed place and have nearly lost your life with the trolls. It seems to me hardly a compensation for what was right”, Thorin insisted.

“Will you come with us, Bilbo? You are most welcome in the Company. You always have been, even when I knew nothing about you”, he added.

Finally he added with a light laugh: “But I’m relieved you are not an elf”.

Bilbo giggled, but Thorin’s allusion reminded him of what he had left behind. “That’s no surprise. Regarding your offer, I truly don’t know. I missed you all in the past weeks and now I miss my home and its comforts. I made a mistake in leaving because, forgive me Thorin, I love Thranduil dearly and my other friends as well; I regret I angered him. I’m afraid I will never be whole again, if guilt won’t kill me first; I’ll miss something, or someone, wherever I’ll be and at the moment I am not sure of where to go”.

“You cannot go back. We both know what awaits for you there”.

“Yes, that’s not something I’m eager to face right now. Or ever. I just wish there was an easy way to solve the situation, to escape a forced marriage without disappointing Thranduil”.

“There is”.

Those two simple words managed to catch Bilbo’s full attention and Thorin continued: “Not an easy one, and not without risks: I could participate in the tournament and take my chances”.

“Would you really do that?” Bilbo asked, his voice filled with incredulity.

“Yes, I definitely would”.

It was now Bilbo’s turn to gape like a fish, but after a couple of moments hope left his eyes and he said: “I understand. You must not feel obliged because I helped you. I didn’t free you from prison to steal your life away later”.

Thorin stepped closer to the hobbit, as if vicinity would make Bilbo understand better.

“Bilbo, should I live other two-hundred years, I won’t ever find someone better than you to share my life with. If you don’t want to believe it, remember that winning would be a big and quick help for my people. Anyway the choice is yours. If you don’t want to consider me as a potential suitor, I will… Understand. Anyway, I could win, but I could not. If someone else does, you will be stuck with him and I won’t be able to do anything to avoid it. Though I don’t like it, we will be subjected to Thranduil’s rules”.

Bilbo took a step forward and grabbed Thorin’s arm to show the dwarf the complete faith he had in him: “I trust you, Thorin. It’s the best chance we both have. If you win your people would want for nothing for decades. I’m ready to take that risk”.

They were so close that it felt completely natural for Thorin to lower his head, slowly, to give Bilbo enough time to step back if he so wished. But the hobbit closed the distance and, guessing Thorin’s intention and being fine with it, pressed his lips to the dwarf’s ones, light as the touch of a butterfly. Understanding that they both welcomed the contact, Thorin pulled Bilbo to himself, burying his fingers in his curls. Bilbo mimicked his movements, reaching for the dwarf’s long hair resting on his shoulders. While they hold each other with force, hands exploring shamelessly, their kiss remained soft and sweet. They took turns in licking the other’s lips, tentative, as if tasting for the first time an unknown kind of food. When Thorin parted his lips to get more, he found Bilbo’s tongue on his own. The dwarf gasped to the new sensation and Bilbo pulled back, amused. But Thorin followed quickly and they kissed again with growing enthusiasm, Bilbo pretty much clung onto the dwarf’s neck.

Thorin wanted nothing more than to push Bilbo on the ground and make things to him that a hobbit would name inappropriate because none of them involved clothes. But he had no right to ask for that yet. He could not give his hobbit hope. The chance Thranduil would arrest him as soon as he set foot on his territory was quite high. And the chance of losing was even higher. So he just said:

“I’d prefer to leave you safe here with the Company, but I think I need your help to find my way back to Thranduil’s halls and to persuade him to let me compete in the tournament”.

Bilbo agreed. He would never let his dwarf enter an elven realm alone.

Then they returned silently to the camp. Bilbo just dragged his bedroll next to Thorin’s and they slept, holding hands under the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like holidays. They mess up my planning. Anyway this is the longest chapter so far, so I'm happy.


End file.
